


Big Changes

by bridgebeingbridge



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: G/T, Giant!Wilson, Giant/Tiny, M/M, Macro/Micro, Macrophilia, Microphilia, Size Difference, maxwil - Freeform, micro/macro, sfw, survivor!Maxwell - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bridgebeingbridge/pseuds/bridgebeingbridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was one thing for Maxwell to escape the throne only to be thrown into harsh winter weather, completely unprepared. But for his luck to be bad enough for him to run into Wilson, who had mysteriously grown to a now freakishly giant size, well, that was really something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing to run through Maxwell’s head was, of course, disbelief - and it was shortly followed by fear. A deep, uneasy sort of terror that racked his frail torso with shivers of panic and made his gut churn with nauseating anxiety, terror that froze him in place and made him unable to process what was going on.

Surviving the island’s tasks and tribulations was wearing the old magician’s stamina thin, draining him both mentally and physically. At first he had been overjoyed to have escaped the throne, the wilderness had seemed like a pleasant vacation in comparison to being Their captive. But slowly, the novelty of being free wore off, and he gradually got more and more sick of the tough, feral environment. Maybe he was free now, but the constraints of survival made everything a dull, depressing grind.

Early winter was starting to settle in, the beginning of the most taxing season of all, and god help him survive it. Already he was frigid with cold each night, the horrible chilled air nipping each of his fingers and swirling around his skinny chest, making him huddle up and cling to himself in an attempt to conserve the meager heat his body produced. The harsh winter breeze would whip at his poor face, making him wince with pain at how it stung his eyes and chapped his lips, after a while he found himself going numb, his skin raw due to the dropping temperatures. He dreaded to think just how bad the cold was going to get as time progressed, he dreaded what full blown winter would be like.

Food was insanely hard to come by, often he found himself going hungry each day, his body weak and skinny with malnutrition and his gut constantly gnawing at him, urging him to find food despite his poor motivation. But there was nothing for him to find - vegetables and fruits were rare due to the season, and the island's animals were too fierce or fast, they were too difficult to hunt. Whenever he did find food, it was disgusting and he didn’t even enjoy the taste of it, having to force it down his throat and avoiding it with his tongue so he didn't have to taste it. He would find foods like shriveled, overripe berries - all they were was a reminder of his now pitifully low place on the food chain. His malnutrition exhausted him, he was shaky and weak, unable to fight or flee from monsters and beasts. He was stick thin, his ribs and collar bones jutting out of his body so much and so harshly that they were almost sharp to the touch, they felt rock solid under his fingers, like the skin wasn't even there. The sight of his own body was rather horrifying, worrying, and most of all depressing, Maxwell would sometimes look down at himself a sigh with broken defeat, his eyes sorrowful as they took in his own slow deterioration.

Not only that, but the knowledge of all the “things” that lurked in the dark each night, the paranoia that hounds were coming to savage him made him an insomniac, he spent each night crouched by the fire, constantly flinching and looking behind himself. Huge dark circles lurked under his eyes, a big contrast to the paleness of his skin, and he was often dizzy with tiredness.

The old man absolutely detested everything. He was sick of how absolutely disgusting it all was, how all the creatures had matted fur and revoltingly stupid faces and smelt putrid. He hated how everything was filthy and sticky and sweaty and how all the dirt got everywhere, under his nails and covering his skin and tangled in his hair. He just wanted to go home, he was tired of this place and tired of pointlessly surviving when life wasn’t even worth surviving for at this point.

The Englishman was out foraging for food in the dense woods one evening, his head brushing against stray pine tree branches as he walked. He picked at two small berry bushes he had found with his long pale fingers, muttering under his breath and letting out puffs of white smoke as he did so, his tall shivering frame hunched over the vegetation, each berry he picked tiny and slightly rotten against his palm. He was relieved to have at least found something, but it was still a meager and pitiful amount of food, it wasn’t even enough for a single day. Hell, it probably wasn’t even worth the energy he had extended while looking for it. Maxwell sighed and looked up through the trees, at the pale, bleak winter sky. It was starting to get late, dusk settling in. Soon it would be night; he needed to head back to his desolate camp, lest “she” found him without a light source or he began to freeze in the dropping temperatures nightfall would bring. He stuffed the berries in his pocket and began walking, one or two pine cones crackling under his tattered fancy shoes as he headed out to where the trees cleared, coming out into a field and leaving footprints against the grass he walked on, disturbing the indignant frost that was beginning to settle.

That was when he heard it. Vibrations that rocked the ground, ominous booming thuds. It almost sounded like several people were all body slamming the ground at once. Maxwell felt like someone had jammed a spear in his gut when he realized that those were _footsteps_. Oh good god, it was one of his giants. How was that possible!? The deerclops was the winter giant, and it wasn’t supposed to roam looking for survivors to eat and camps to ruin until mid to late winter! He began to shake with fear, his hands going clammy and his breathing hitching in his throat a little. Before he could even think about attempting to hide or run, think about formulating some kind of plan and about how to react, he felt a cold shadow fall over him and shivered, scuttling backwards and looking up - only to outright scream at what he saw next. This wasn’t the deerclops that had stumbled upon him or managed to track him down, oh no. It was much, _much_ worse.

It was the first survivor he’d ever lured to the island, his former prisoner. It was _Higgsbury_. How in god's name what he was seeing as possible he didn’t know, but it was him alright, the self proclaimed gentleman scientist, only freakishly gargantuan now. He was insanely vast, bigger than any deerclops could have ever been, clearly over fifty feet tall. How on Earth had this become of the practically tiny fellow he’d lured to this realm? Maybe the old man had simply gotten desperate enough to eat some of the island's foul mushrooms and was hallucinating from it, or perhaps his exhaustion and malnutrition were causing him to see things - but this felt alarmingly real for a hallucination. He could hardly even make out the scientist’s face, he was that tall, but when he looked up and really strained his eyes he could see a rather curious and shocked expression, signalling that Wilson hadn't been expecting to see him - albeit the scientist’s shock was nowhere near as strong as Maxwell’s own. The old king was of course horrified when he realized that Wilson's attention was focused entirely on him - which meant the colossal power that was packed behind those giant limbs and muscles of his was too. His eyes drifted from Wilson's face, taking in more of the tower in front of them, only to notice the giant had animal blood on his collars - oh good lord. It took all of Maxwell's strength not to let his knees give out from under him in that moment. He could feel his heart rate and breathing pick up, everything becoming an unsteady rhythm, his hands spasming violently now.

“Haaa- huh, hi, Higgsbury?” He finally spluttered, his voice ending in a terrified involuntary whimper which he prayed with all his being was inaudible to the giant, even now still concerned about his pride. His lower jaw was dropped, jerking up and down as he tried to coax more words from his throat, his efforts all to no avail, utter terror locking up his voice box. 

He was outright petrified, certain that Wilson would kill him. Surely, after luring him to such a foul place once the giant got over his shock he would take revenge, surely he would be overcome with volatile emotions, by anger. Wilson could do anything to him - and he would be powerless to stop it; there were probably over one hundred different ways the scientist could reduce him to nothing but a red smear. Maxwell's fear left him glued in place, his frame stiff like stone, his mind screaming at him to run but his body not complying out of pure fear and shock.

He covered his ears when the giant spoke and hunched up, pained by the humongous voice as he felt it vibrate through his frail chest and pound through his skull. Wilson was merely speaking at an average volume, but to the human it was just so insanely loud, his huge lungs and throat belting out powerful waves of sound. The former king dreaded to think what a full blown yell would be like.

“Maxwell?” Wilson rumbled. “Is that you?”

Maxwell didn’t wait to give an answer, he finally was roused to his senses enough to bolt away, his lanky frame whipping back as he snapped around and began to sprint, probably pushing his tired old body more than he should have been. His lungs were burned by the harsh cold air as he heaved it in while running, adrenaline pushing him to speeds he hadn't experienced in years. He ran to the treeline, tearing through the dense forest frantically, hopping with his overly long legs over particularly big fallen branches and ducking into the undergrowth. He knew he had a snowball's chance in hell of outrunning the giant, but perhaps if he could just find somewhere to hide-

He shuddered with shock as he heard the snapping of tree trunks. Twisting his head around and slowing his sprint slightly, he turned to see Wilson had crouched down. The giant scientist was moving one arm towards him, a humongous thick pole of flesh gliding across the forest floor, thicker than even the tallest birch nut trees in the Glommer’s forest. Tree after tree snapped upon making contact with it, the giant hardly even having to use any force to snap huge trunks of wood. A gigantic, outstretched hand at the end of it was looming towards him, ready to snatch him up. It was odd to see something human enlarged to such a scale, merely just one of those sharp fingernails were the size of one of his entire hands. Maxwell could see every single line and fingerprint scattered across Wilson’s thick leathery skin in detail, each one was as big as a crack you would find in pavement, and most of his fingers were about as long as he was. He almost let out a pathetic wail of panic, only just able to hold it in, his mind ready to burst and reeling with shock at how impossible the whole situation was. He was going to be grabbed and trapped, and there was nothing he could do! He mindlessly kept running, trying to kid himself into believing there was a chance he could still get away.

He didn’t manage to stay silent and loudly gasped with horror as the giant’s hand snaked around the front of his body, suddenly dominating his view and slamming his escape to a halt. It gently crashed into his lanky frame and wrapped around him, pinning his legs together and surrounding his torso with a thick wall of flesh. He felt bile rising in his throat as he was suddenly swept from the ground, his stomach churning and twisting with anxiety as one minute his legs were firmly planted on a hard surface, and the next he found that they were flailing twenty feet up in the air. He looked down at the ground, petrified as he saw the spine shattering height he had been lifted to, beginning to heave in heavy breaths of panic. The dapper gent began to struggle against Wilson’s clutches furiously, beating his fists against the giant fingers, trying to kick his legs free and merely writhing instead. His prey instincts were strong enough to completely override his fear of the height he had suddenly been hoisted up to, he didn’t care about being dropped, he just had to get _away_. He lifted his head up and let his attention drift to his captor’s stare fixed on him. Maxwell paled a little at being near Wilson’s mouth, fearing for a moment that he was about to perhaps be _eaten_ , primeval instinct and terror taking hold of his mind, making it flood with irrational and frantic fears. He was conjuring up countless scenarios in his head that would all lead to his harsh demise at the literal hands of this behemoth he had been caught by, and he was certain that one of them was about to occur. He relaxed ever so slightly when he was brought higher than the mouth and up to Wilson's eyes instead, at least one of the terrible fears circling around his mind now dispelled.

He met Higgsbury’s curious brown orbs and returned with his own stare, trying to make his gaze not one that was wide and terrified and instead a glare, but failing rather badly. Wilson's face was just so intimidatingly big, all of him was, it was unbelievable. He was gargantuan, colossal, huge, absolutely massive and utterly gigantic. All of him was spread in front of Maxwell, filling his sights, and it was too much for him to take in all at once. Despite the fact that the former king could hear the thrum of his own heart echoing through his head as it hammered against his rib cage furiously with fear, a hot, unbearably loud thumping drowning out all other sounds, he was certain his heart had stopped. His stale old lungs felt like they were locked in place, filled to the brim with lead and unable to take in new air. Everything else came out of focus, his own trembling, the hand and height surrounding him, it all flew out of his mind, the edges of his vision blurred. His entire focus was on his former captives utterly black pupils that devoured both all the light they could touch and bore into him like black holes, and the soft irises that surrounded those pupils, how they twinkled with an irritating kind of curiosity as the scientist studied him. It felt like almost like time was slowing down, the scramble of events that had been happening to him suddenly slamming to a halt and the staring match he was trapped in taking an eternity, his shocked state worsening.

“Maxwell, calm down a bit. You’re a jerk, and I am tempted to hurt you for what you’ve done, but I won’t. It would be unfair of me considering my size advantage, almost unsporting, wouldn’t you say?” Maxwell had to pause and strain his mind for a moment, focusing, letting the reality of the fact that Wilson talking to him and what exactly was being said sink in. The giant’s voice was softer this time, but it was still a terrible booming thing.

The old ruler squirmed about uncomfortably, but stopped fighting quite so hard, somewhat reassured by what he was being told. It seemed like the scientist could at least perhaps be reasoned with, perhaps he would indeed have mercy and let him go without harming him. He couldn’t help but flinch at how loud the giant's voice was, feeling it pour from Wilson’s chest and burst through him again.

He gave a slight, curt nod upon hearing the comment and swallowed nervously.

“Yes, quite.” He managed. He was about to say something else when Wilson cut him off.

“So. How come you’re… out here. Powerless. How come you don’t rule anymore?” Wilson’s voice was even softer this time, a gentle cooing, finally a volume which wasn’t too loud for the human.

The former king wanted to growl with irritation, annoyed by the prying questions. He honestly couldn’t be bothered to respond, but knew better than to deny a giant answers.

“The throne has a new ruler now. Those who sit upon it are trapped there, and a different survivor I brought here freed me and now sits upon it. So I was released into this place.” He answered as calmly as he could. The giant hawed and hummed in response, but otherwise an odd silence and a staring match began to unfold.

Maxwell stared up at those giant brown eyes warily, trying to read the scientist's thoughts and emotions and to predict his next actions as best he could. He was getting more and more mortified at being manhandled like some kind of pet by the minute and his desperation to be put down and left alone was not at all decreasing. Blast his poor luck, he had never been a fortunate man, but one of his old enemies becoming a hulking giant and then running straight into them while tired, hungry and defenseless not long after he had escaped the throne was really something else. First They were his captor, and now _Higgsbury_ of all people was. He was honestly confused as to what on Earth the giant wanted from him, seeing as he was still breathing it wasn’t revenge and blood, so what else could the titanic man possibly desire? Maxwell was powerless now, he had nothing of value to give. Whatever the reason, the old magician was not at all pleased – Higgsbury had never seemed to be the violent or particularly cruel type, but then again, the island could harden men and change them drastically, make them go feral. Maxwell was sure whatever he wanted involved malicious intent. He cleared his throat, trying to sound as composed and unafraid as possible, like his usual smug, confident self would.

“What is it that you want from me then, Higgsbury?” He asked, ending the silence. “I have nothing worthwhile to offer or give to you. You may as well just let me be on my way, no?” He was mindful to be fairly polite, after all, one catches more flies with honey than vinegar and this was an unnervingly large fly he was dealing with. If it came down to survival, he could hold his usual rude, blunt and condescending tone back – with a lot of effort.

His face instantly and instinctively turned into that of pure offense at what Wilson said next.

“Hmmm. I don’t know Maxy. I didn’t expect to find you out here, so I’m still thinking about what to do with you. To be honest, I’m tempted to mess with you. It would be hilarious and you’d deserve it, you old bastard.” None other than “she” would call him Maxy. The giant’s tone was a frustratingly pleased and smug purr, and he wore an expression that matched his voice. Maxwell growled a little.

“I’m not your toy! Higgsbury, put me down!” He hissed, forgetting about his little plan to be polite; the Brit was simply too proud. “You irritating overgrown buffoon, let me go!” He bared his teeth with frustration, squirming and shifting about in Wilson’s grip, his tiny frame grinding against Wilson’s hand as he began putting up a fight again.

“We’ll see about that.” Wilson merely snickered upon seeing his anger, flashing his teeth as he made a quick retort. 

Maxwell tensed and stopped wriggling when he felt the hand around him shift and loosen its grip, terrified he was about to be dropped. He cried out from shock as he was suddenly flipped upside down, thinking for one agonizingly long and horrible moment that he had indeed been released and that he was going to plummet to the ground, but really, he was still being held - only just, however. Maxwell's long, thin frail left leg was pinched between two of Wilson's large fingers, his index and his ring finger, and the rest of Maxwell's body was left to helplessly dangle, completely unsupported. After his descent abruptly and rather painfully stopped, the ex performer's body painfully jolted, Maxwell looked up, taking in the fact he was still being held, honestly ready to weep with sheer relief. The older man began straining with his abdomen, tensing to use his muscles so he could hoist himself up enough to grab onto one of Wilson’s fingers in order to cling to it; even that would be better than _this_. After several tries he gave into the fact he was too weak and instead just flopped back down, swinging helplessly as he did so. He felt horrendously sick from all the sudden movement, his nausea worsening as he looked down and saw how far away the ground was and felt the blood rush to his head, stomach acids leaking up his throat as gravity pulled him and tugged on him, trying to drag him to his demise. His vision was starting to blur out of shock and fear, but through the haze he glanced up and managed to notice Wilson’s smug soft laughter and how delighted he looked, and was absolutely sickened. Maxwell began to struggle and writhe out of pure indignant disgust and rage.

“Wilson! Stop this! You pitiable failure of a scientist, stop being so immature!” He screeched angrily, acting on a furiously offended and humiliated impulse. His face was flushed a furious red out of anger and embarrassment at being handled so teasingly and like some kind of pitiful toy, being made into nothing but a little joke for someone, and that someone being the likes of a pathetic man like Wilson, no less.

Maxwell immediately regretted his words when the scientist gave a little smirk and began holding him properly again, reaching out with his other hand only to snatch him up rather roughly. Maxwell noticed that this time he was using an uncomfortably tight grip, the ex performer tensing up and his eyes widening with fear. Those giant fingers wrapped around his ribs increased their pressure even more, encasing him in a wall of tight discomfort.

“H-Higgsbury,” He wheezed. “Lessen your grip a bit.” His voice was merely a pathetic rasp, his lungs only able to take in tiny, short little breaths due to how they were being squashed, and he cursed at himself for sounding so panicked and weak.

Wilson merely hummed in response, his tone upbeat.

“You’re not really in any place to be making demands right now, _pal_.” He shifted about and lazily propped his other arm’s elbow on one of his crossed legs, resting his head in his palm. “Honestly Maxwell, you’re so proud. Manners never hurt anyone, and they don’t cost a thing. A fellow gentleman like you ought to know better than to be so rude.” He tutted, grinning as he playfully scolded Maxwell.

The magician paled and shivered slightly at the sly glint in the giant’s eyes, his unease growing as his own watered down greyish ones took in the look Wilson was giving him. It wasn’t an angry one, oh no, it was a rather joyful one – which was ten times worse. He was clearly enjoying his power over the helpless human and delighted at how uncomfortable the former king was. Maxwell was all too much reminded of the kind of predatory glee a cat toying with a mouse it had caught would have and winced slightly. He was most uneasy to find out what Wilson planned on doing with him once he was done playing.

Maxwell’s eyes watered and he frantically began to defensively dig his fingers and nails into Wilson’s hand, doing anything he could to get the giant to stop as the pressure was suddenly increased again. It felt almost three times as strong now, harshly and completely cutting off his lungs ability to breathe. His chest was in agony, tight pain shooting through it. The former ruler’s tiny old heart thumped furiously with fear, beating as fast the wings of a humming bird would. He could hardly move but he still tried to kick and thrash, trying to twist with his torso as if he could whirl himself out of Wilson's hand, so worried now he was doing anything and everything he could to get the crushing to stop, acting on flight or fight instinct. He strained to lean away from Wilson due to how fearful he was, wanting to put distance between the giant and himself and making his discomfort known as he threw his neck back and gritted his teeth with pain. Even he wasn’t above the point of begging for mercy at this point, but he couldn’t speak, instead all he could do was let out loud strained grunts and one short, soft, pitiful whine of desperation. He was petrified that this was Wilson trying to kill him, petrified that the pressure wasn’t going to stop increasing until his ribs cracked and his body was but a mess of mangled shards and blood. His vision began to be ringed with darkness, everything going shaky and blurring, and for a terrifying moment he thought he would pass out right there in the giant's grip, leaving Wilson to do god knows what with him until he woke up - that is, if the scientist was even merciful enough to let him live long enough to wake up again.

The dapper old man couldn’t stop shaking and trembling once that terrible grip, after a painstakingly long amount of time which felt like hours to him, finally relaxed and released his frame from the squeezing and agony. He was almost going into shock from how terrified he had just been - and still was. His lanky form was hunched over as he leaned forwards, his head down as he gasped for huge, long breaths, letting the dizziness wear off. His upper body still ached with a dull, tight pain from having so much pressure applied. He was humiliated beyond all belief at this point, like Wilson had taken his pride and smashed it over one knee, shattering it into thousands of pieces. The magician clung to Wilson’s hand to stabilize himself, and slowly, hesitantly looked up, his eyes full to the brim with hatred and fear as he stared at the giant scientist. He swallowed and kept taking big breaths, not daring himself to speak, lest he scream with rage at Wilson and provoke his cruelty even more.

Wilson seemed to be looking at him - a little oddly. Sadly, almost. Like a child who regretted the fact they had just bullied a weedier classmate on the playground. 

“Heh, you looked so funny wheezing like that. I - I didn’t hurt you too badly though, right?”

“Too badly!? _Too badly!?_ I thought you were trying to kill me, you brute!" Maxwell looked up at him, his face contorted with seething anger, outraged and shocked by Wilson’s seemingly oblivious comment and at the fact he had enjoyed torturing him so much. "It was agony! I almost passed out! You _monster_! Let me go!”

He struggled much more furiously than he ever had before, not even caring if Wilson dropped him - hell, he’d welcome it - a quick bone shattering fall would be much better than whatever else the scientist had planned, and better than being demeaned so badly. He kicked and tried to flip himself, rocking back and forth and side to side, digging his nails in again and trying to push against the giants hand so he would pop out of his grip. He looked down at his hips desperately, willing them to pull out of the giant’s fingers. They didn’t.

“I know you want to kill me! So just get it over with! Stop torturing me like this, you _beast!_ ” He was practically screeching and spitting, ranting on and on. 

Wilson was quiet for a good moment, and his face looked - genuinely sad.

“I - no.” He finally managed words. His voice was very quiet, and it sounded very guilty, it was laced with remorse. “I - no Maxwell! I don’t want to kill you, _goodness no,_ I just - I guess I got carried away. I was so angry about how - well, you didn’t treat me very nicely when you were on the throne, so I was still upset about it - I forgot, well. The power of my size and that you’re still a person.” He bit his lip sheepishly as he admitted the last part. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly I just - wanted to annoy you and rough house a bit. I’m a gentleman, I’d never kill another man” The giant’s tone sounded almost desperate at the end.

The old king eyed him suspiciously, squinting with his pale grey eyes and toning down his struggles, shifting a little but otherwise not moving.

“You could just be lying to me. Tricking me. After what you just did I want nothing to do with you.” He insisted, glaring at the giant and pulling his lips back into a defensive snarl.

He did, however, believe that Wilson was being genuine with what he was saying, but his trust hadn't even been there in the first place - there was no way in hell he’d even think about holding any faith in the scientist now. What if he got angry or changed his mind about being sorry and did something even worse than what he had just done? The bottom line was, the former ruler hated Higgsbury even more than he originally had now, and was still terrified of him.

The magician watched as the giant sighed and ran a hand through his springy black hair.

“Look - Maxwell - I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. You were rather horrible to have lured me here though, you’ve hurt me way worse than what I just did to you.” Wilson defended himself with a huff. “Like I said, I was just trying to mess with you, make you a bit uncomfortable, I didn’t want to hurt you or anything. But regardless, two wrongs don’t make a right. I see that now. Look, what if I camp with you to make it up to you? I know survival out here is hard. Me being around might make it easier for you.”

Maxwell was taken aback by the suggestion, staring up at Wilson and unsure of what to do next, his mouth opening slightly in shock.

“I don’t need help! Least of all from the likes of you, Higgsbury. Now let me go!” His nose slowly wrinkled with disgust at the proposal.

He was quick to insist that he wanted to remain a lone wolf. As if he would ever taint his pride so badly as to accept Higgsbury’s help! First of all, the giant was terribly intimidating and he absolutely detested the size difference. He didn’t want to constantly have to deal with it, and deep down he was scared of the giant turning violent again. Second of all, he was a proud man. Even if he couldn’t take care of himself, he wasn’t going to admit it to anyone, least of all to some failure scientist.

The old geezer’s struggles started up yet again when he felt Wilson stand up, his weight shifting in the giant’s hand. He desperately tried not to look at the floor, his head reeling with dizziness at how horribly far away it looked and a fresh wave of panic began clenching his heart and throat again. He knew that all it would take would be a wrong word on his part or some clumsiness on Wilson’s part and he’d be a destroyed mess on the ground, he was impossibly high at this point and he hated it.

“Higgsbury!” He hissed indignantly. “I told you to put me down and leave me alone!”

“Maxwell, please use your head and think. Is this really an offer you want to turn down? I can tell you’re not exactly doing well, you look a mess.” Wilson replied in a matter of fact sort of tone.

Maxwell’s face flushed a furious red and his jaw dropped out of pure offense.

“No thanks to you!” He snarled, giving Wilson the most angry glare he could. He was severely insulted and humiliated by the comment, considering how much he prided himself on appearances.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult! I just meant to say I know survival out here is hard and messy. If I helped you, you wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of the more difficult aspects. Think of it like - a deal, no? You have knowledge of this place, which I admittedly want. In return for it, I can give you all sorts of benefits - a countless number of them, in fact. Really, you’d get the sweeter end of the deal. You would gain a lot of protection; hounds and spiders, why, they’re not even a challenge for me, I could fight them for you. I could help you find food, I eat a lot of meat now so I could give you some of it. You could traverse the island much more easily if I carried you, and I could help you gain shelter by helping you build. Don’t let your pride get in the way of survival.” Wilson was insistent, clearly not relenting anytime soon.

Maxwell was admittedly confused by the offer, why the hell would Wilson want to aid him that much? Why would Wilson want to be - well, nice to him? The knowledge part made it at least make somewhat more sense, after all, Wilson would be getting something out of their deal - but still. He would be giving an awful lot for saying what he would getting in return. What if this was some kind of sinister trick? After all, Wilson had just given Maxwell a taste of how much pain he could inflict, of how much power he had. If he wanted the knowledge right then and there for free, all he would have had to do was hurt or even threaten Maxwell and he would have been given it straight away, he could use his size to blackmail the magician, hardly exerting any effort while using brute force. Was Wilson really that much of a… well, a “gentleman”, that he would make a fair deal? Maxwell supposed he had to give the scientist some credit - if he’d been in Wilson’s place, he would have squashed himself into the soil so hard the corpse would have been unrecognizable.

The old king narrowed his eyes at Wilson and shifted to get more comfortable in his hand. He thought for a long time and very, very carefully. Honestly, he still was desperate to continue demanding to be put down and left the hell alone. Maxwell knew better than anyone that deals could be extremely dangerous things, especially if said deal was with someone who has the upper hand and was much more powerful - and in this case, his deal was with someone who could probably kill him with just one finger. But one the other hand, in the long term, this deal could save this life an infinite number of times. As much as he despised himself for admitting it, Higgsbury was correct. He was an utter starving, exhausted mess. He was weak; his frail body could hardly hold it’s own against creatures enough for him to be able to hunt for meat and while he had only been attacked by two stray hounds so far, they had almost killed him. He knew he was doomed if a whole pack of them or the deerclops came for him. Risks aside, teaming up with Wilson would increase his chances for survival more than staying alone would - and survival was, sadly, more important than his pride. Besides, he was honestly a little terrified of whether Wilson would get angry and what he might do if his offer kept on getting denied.

“Fine.” The magician grumbled and held out a hesitant hand so they could shake on it. “But lay a single finger on me again without my permission, physically harm me just once, and this deal is off. I mean it!” He warned.

He pulled his hand away a fair bit as Wilson reached for it with his spare hand, his fingers curling defensively, and stared the scientist down, not letting them shake until he was sure the giant agreed to his terms.

“If we’re going to camp together, I want the utmost respect.” He insisted.

Wilson gave a soft smile, and Maxwell gritted his teeth, assuming it was a mocking smile. However, this assumption dissipated when the scientist spoke.

“But of course. I promise I’ll respect you and won’t hurt you.” He hummed gently.

The tinier man didn’t believe the respect part, but he felt at least the agreement to not hurt him was genuine and that Wilson was trying to be nice, and he went back to holding his hand out.

The scientist gently grabbed the old man’s bony hand, and Maxwell was surprised by just how gentle Wilson's giant grip was. He felt his hand get lightly cupped in between the soft, warm leathery pad’s of Wilson’s thumb and index finger, the touch so soft it almost tickled slightly. His hand was ever so slightly moved up and down in a firm but slow and mellow shake, Wilson careful not to catch Maxwell with his nails at all, and the magician was ashamed to admit it, but the touch reassured and even sort of comforted him. At least this was evidence Wilson perhaps now better understood the power of his size; it was a sign that Wilson was trying to be gentle. The whole thing was honestly breathtakingly odd, the fact that he was shaking hands with a literal giant. The reality of the fact that Wilson was just so colossal now still hadn't quite sunk in.

Regardless, it was done. They had shook, a deal had been struck, and there was no going back on it. All Maxwell could do now was hope that it worked out in his favour.


	2. Chapter 2

Maxwell wasn’t sure where Wilson would want to proceed from with him now that he had finally agreed to his deal. He massaged his temples with both hands, pinching his forehead’s pale skin between his bony, cold, dirt ridden fingers in an attempt to de-stress himself, glaring up at Wilson as he did so, almost pouting with irritation at him. Yet another awkward, short staring match began to ensue between the pair of them. Their deal had been struck, so now what? Wilson eventually broke the silence.

“Well. Now that we have our agreement, would you like me to carry you back to your camp so you can show it to me? If you have one established, that is. Otherwise, I suppose I could perhaps help you make one.” Wilson offered as he pulled back the spare hand he had just used to shake Maxwell’s hand and cupped it under the former king’s legs, so it could act as extra support.

“How would you carry me?” Maxwell asked, eyeing his companion warily. He knew it probably wouldn’t be comfortable, but just how uncomfortable, that was the question.

“Uh, however you want.” Wilson shrugged. “I could just carry you in my hands, you might be jostled a bit as I walk but you’d be very secure, I promise you. Or - well, I guess you could ride on my shoulder? You’d need to hold on really tightly though, grab two good fist fulls of my hair or my clothes and not let go for the whole ride to make sure you didn’t fall.”

The giant thought for a moment. “Another option is my breast pocket.” He lifted Maxwell up to it, so he could examine it. “It’s not too deep, I think you’d still be able to look out, although it might feel a little odd and cramped and uncomfortable, but it would be very secure. I think those are our only options.” The scientist paused for a few seconds and snickered. “Unless you want to ride on my shoe.”

“Definitely not.” Maxwell rolled his eyes and snapped in response to Wilson’s joke. He wouldn’t put it past the giant to just stick him on his shoe and make him into a big joke without receiving consent to be allowed to do so, for his own childish amusements.

“All of those choices aren’t exactly ideal.” The Englishman grumbled, reaching with a hand and tugging at the massive pocket, so he could look into it and check it wasn’t too deep or dirty inside. “But if I have to pick - well, I guess I’ll go for the pocket. Just don’t drop me.”

He gritted his teeth at how humiliating even just admitting that he would allow himself to ride in Wilson’s pocket was. His bloody pocket, of all places! Like some pet mouse being carted about by a child. But, it indeed seemed like the best option. So far, being held by Wilson hadn't exactly been a walk in the park - those fingers were like crushing boa constrictors when they wanted to be. Secondly, he was not at all fond of being cradled and carried about like some kind of mere object or invalid, being manhandled was horribly degrading. As for the shoulder, well, it sounded like the most dignified way of traveling with the giant. But he’d be even more high up, and what’s more he’d have to cling on so very tightly and hold himself up there for the entire journey, he was worried that he would tire or Wilson’s gait would be too bumpy for him to cope with and that he’d fall - especially considering he was so very weak with insomnia, malnutrition and shock currently. No, the shoulder was most definitely too terrifyingly high for his already shattered nerves and old heart to deal with, so he’d have to choose the pocket.

Maxwell felt Wilson gently remove his extra hand from around his gangly legs and watched as he tugged his pocket open, gently and slowly letting him down so he slipped inside the soft fabric. Being dropped and falling through the air for a short moment, only to then slide against the slippery tweed fabric made Maxwell’s stomach lurch and his body stiffen with panic at the sensation for just a split second. The old man squirmed quite a bit once he had fully slid inside the pocket, fighting for space and to get comfortable. He had to admit, it was pleasantly soft and warm, but being squashed in between the fabric and Wilson, having to be in such close proximity to him was rather suffocating, not to mention irritating and awkward to say the least. It felt odd to be suspended so high in the air and to be suspended from a huge fall that could kill by merely a wall of clothing, it was like being bundled up in a vertical hammock, one that squashed him against Wilson rather firmly and uncomfortably. He stopped fighting for space so much and sighed, flopping against the cloth rather weakly and letting himself be smothered in it, worn out from coming down from the adrenaline rushes he’d been getting out of fear for the past fifteen minutes and from the strain of surviving on the island during the past month. There would be no point in squirming for space and wasting energy for the entire ride, after all.

“Don’t trip once you start walking.” The former ruler warned nervously before they set off.

“Don’t be stupid, as if I wouldn’t be careful not to trip. If I tripped I would die myself, it wouldn’t be just you - don’t you know anything?” Maxwell bristled as he was scoffed at. “I’m so big now my huge organs couldn’t take the height and force of the fall.” Wilson explained.

“Well, telling me all about your weaknesses doesn’t seem like a particularly intelligent thing to do!” Maxwell hissed in response, his tone rude and angry. He couldn’t help but feel smug at the embarrassed flush which seemed to cover Wilson’s face, able to get back at the behemoth a little.

“Please. As if you could use that knowledge against me. Besides, I wouldn’t die straight away, I would die slowly of internal bleeding, so if you did, I’d kill you.” Wilson quickly snapped, defending himself from the smart retort.

Maxwell swallowed a little at the harsh, defensive threat, despite the fact that really it was reasonable one. It was still unnerving to hear, considering it was coming from a literal giant, and what's more, one that had every reason to be bitter against him.

He stiffened when he realized he could very, very faintly feel Wilson’s heart calmly thumping away under his ribs and flesh and skin, the constant, powerful tempo pulsing through his chest, his clothing and subsequently through Maxwell's back. The old man shivered about how odd it was, unsure if he disliked the sensation or not - it wasn’t unpleasant, just incredibly queer. God, the powerful, gargantuan organ was probably bigger than his entire body! He could feel each huge breath Wilson pulled in too, those room sized chambers that were his lungs pulling in inordinate amounts of air and pushing them back out again at a steady pace. It was a reminder of just how much bigger Wilson had gotten, once the ridiculous little man hardly reached past the magician's waist, and now here he was, with a heart probably over twice as big as his entire body used to be. It was also a reminder to the old man of just how small he was in comparison, how absolutely and utterly tiny he must have seemed to the gigantic scientist, he felt as small as a grain of sand or a fleck of dust. He was merely but the size of one of Wilson’s fingers, he was puny, the most he could do to Wilson would just feel like a light tap or a slight pinch, he probably couldn’t even hurt the giant. It was honestly quite terrifying that a former enemy had so much power over him - or perhaps rather current enemy, Maxwell wasn’t even sure what Wilson was to him as of right now.

He felt his stomach lurch when Wilson began to walk, his breath catching in his throat a little. He could tell the giant was actually walking rather slowly and taking strides which were as smooth as possible, long and soft and slow things, but the lumbering, giant movements still felt rather jolting. Especially considering the Brit was at such a tremendous height currently, it made the experience ten times more nerve racking - the only thing between him and a fatal fall was a thin line of fabric. He suddenly felt rather glad that the pocket was so deep and hid away in it a bit, only his forehead and eyes visible as he peeked out.

Maxwell slowly got more and more used to the movements as they traveled together, adapting to how the rhythm of each stomp felt, becoming a little less tense and stressed, getting as comfortable as what would be possible for him while in the odd scenario. Scenery seemed to whip by, Wilson was able to cover acres of land with effortless strides, quickly passing through each biome. The former king had to admit, the view of the island he now had was indeed… well, breathtaking. He could see miles and miles of forests and grasslands, all of his creations and the blinking winter sun as it settled down into the treeline for the night laid out in front of him. He could see it, he could see it all. It did indeed look - well, he wouldn’t go so far as to say it was beautiful, but it was very pleasant, a new and different outlook on the hellish landscape he hated; at least it was a change. Being with Wilson made him - as disgusted as he was to admit it, more able to enjoy the wilderness. After all, admiring a dangerous place was much much easier for the frail gent when instead of hiding away in the woods, terrified of monsters, he was too high up for any of them to attack him and under the protection of something so big and powerful. He tugged the pocket’s fabric down a little more so that he could really look out, almost tempted to smile at the view.

The pair remained in an awkward silence as they walked, or rather, as one walked and the other was carried, the only sound coming from either of them occurring because Wilson had to gently ask for directions a couple times. Neither of them was really sure what to say to the other, and Maxwell felt too tired for conversation anyway. Honestly, the old performer wasn’t particularly fond of just how stiff and tense everything was going to be while he and Wilson got used to being around each other, especially considering their strained and hostile past interactions, but he supposed to there was nought to be done about it. He’d just have to, unfortunately, try as hard as he could to get on the scientist’s good side and to amend fences. Eventually, Wilson broke the silence again by asking if they had found what they were looking for.

“I think I see something now - is that your camp?” He murmured.

“Yes, that's it!” Maxwell squinted ahead to where Wilson was pointing and called up to him, letting the giant carry him over to it with his effortless, mile long strides.

He felt Wilson’s huge frame stiffen slightly as the giant stomped right over to his camp upon hearing the confirmation that what he had spotted was indeed Maxwell’s settlement, only to step on something. A loud, distant snapping sort of noise could be heard, from right underneath the giant’s feet. Maxwell strained to look down, only to dismay at the sight of all his drying racks, now merely reduced to splintering twigs and jammed under Wilson’s left shoe, pounded into the floor. He groaned inwardly out of pure frustration. Well, at least he hadn't had any meat drying on them, so no precious food had been wasted, but still, now he’d have to rebuild them all and grass was scarce during winter, he couldn’t afford to waste it on ropes for new drying racks. Perhaps he would at least be able to salvage some of the materials he had used to construct them. He stared up at Wilson with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, clearly very much irritated. The scientist had an embarrassed sort of face, clearly sheepish about how clumsy he had just been.

“I - uh. I think I just stepped on your drying racks. Sorry.” Wilson apologized, looking down at his pocket.

“I can see that!” Maxwell hissed in response.

“Calm down! I’ll help you rebuild them as best I can, it’s not like they’re even that hard to make.” The scientist huffed in response when he saw how moody the old man was. “It was an accident, it’s not my fault things are hard to see and get under my feet so easily now I’m this size.”

It was clear that Wilson was currently rather self conscious of just how graceless his size now made him. Maxwell grumbled under his breath and shook his head as if to say nevermind, his tiny voice inaudible to the giant, but otherwise he didn’t respond.

He tensed up when he felt Wilson shift, realizing that the huge giant was trying to sit down and he braced himself as he felt Wilson fall to his knees, his gargantuan body shaking the ground despite how gently and slowly he made sure he fell, resting his hands on the floor in an attempt to carefully spread his weight, distributing it as much as he could. He squirmed about to get comfortable as he sat down and settled on his rump, crossing his legs. He rested one of his arm’s elbows on his knee and placed a hand under his chin, propping up and supporting his head with the palm of his hand. With a hum, he gently reached with his other hand and plucked Maxwell out of his pocket, pinching the human’s collar between two fingers and dragging him out rather roughly.

Maxwell’s stomach balled up with nausea and threatened to revolt against him as he was dangled at such a terrible height, his body unsupported and left to helplessly swing. He flailed his arms a bit and his face flushed red with humiliation and anger. The old Englishman kicked angrily, swaying back and forth as he did so.

“Already you’re disobeying my wishes and not upholding to your end of the deal! I want to be treated with respect!” He complained, his voice shrill with indignance.

Wilson quickly put him down, but couldn’t help himself from making a rather sly remark.

“Sorry sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind so much - besides, I couldn’t help myself - you looked so funny like that, like a tiny wrinkled baby kitten. Come on, take a joke, Max.” He snickered.

Maxwell stumbled a bit as he was let down, his shaky legs taking a moment to adapt to the solid floor after having been made into jelly with fear just moments ago from being dangled at such a height and having been stiffly held in place by the fabric of Wilson’s pocket for quite some time. Solid ground was a bit of a shock after being supported by nothing at all or thin cotton. Maxwell tugged at the ends of his fancy suit in order to iron it out, straightening up irritably, puffing his chest out as if to regain some semblance of his pride, and menacingly glared up at Wilson.

“Well. This is it. My camp.” He muttered, waving one arm to point at it in a begrudging manner, his own eyes darting over Wilson’s face to see his reaction to it.

He watched as the giant hummed, looking around with that usually repulsively curious glint in his eyes.

“Hm. Not… not bad. How long have you been out here?” Wilson asked.

“Only a month.” Maxwell sighed and gave a short, grumbled answer.

He could tell the scientist thought his camp was pitiful, and honestly, he was right to think so. Everything was rather shoddily made and overall there wasn’t much of anything. There was just a fire pit, his now utterly ruined drying racks, a crusty old crock pot, a manky, bristly straw sleeping roll he hadn't ever even used, and a half empty chest. That was it. It was an utter mess and looked horribly bleak and run down, while making it Maxwell had barely put any effort in at all, too tired and disinterested to care if it looked repulsive or to worry about how well it functioned that much. Not only that, but resources he could use to make new things for his camp or improve upon the old ones had been terribly constrained by the winter weather, and he was limited by the constant distraction that was survival. He was too busy running from enraged spiders or scavenging for food or weakly chopping trees, in order to obtain firewood so he could keep himself warm and safe from the darkness, to worry about his camp.

“Well, for a one month old camp it’s… it’s pretty good!” Wilson sat up a little.

The old man could easily see that the giant was telling a white lie about what he really thought, but he was honestly too tired to care. At least perhaps Wilson was trying to be polite and nice.

“Mhmm.” Maxwell sighed yet again, giving the smallest and most begrudging response he could get away with.

Confusion spread across Maxwell’s face as Wilson wordlessly stood up all of a sudden. He had to force himself not let his jaw drop or to not back up out of awe and slight fear as yet again he was exposed to his former captive’s full height. He couldn’t stop a breathless gasp from escaping his lips, however, no matter how hard he tried. He just couldn't help it; good God, Wilson, he was like a - like a skyscraper! He was so tall Maxwell really had to squint to make out his face when he stood up, because his head was simply that far away. He was an impossibly vast wall of fabric and skin and hair, and it almost hurt the magician’s head to take it all in.

The scientist shuffled over to some trees lining Maxwell’s camp and began pushing on them lazily; the sight rather reminded Maxwell of an overgrown grizzly bear. Effortlessly pine after pine was snapped at the base, thick chunks of wood that took hours for Maxwell to chop were dealt with by Wilson like they were merely toothpicks. Each tree slammed into the ground a fair distance away from Maxwell and his camp, shaking the floor a little and utterly flattening the short winter grass as they did so. The giant didn’t stop until a total of ten trees had fallen. His movements seemed so heavy and lumbering, they almost appeared to make the air and ground rumble.

Wilson flopped down onto his knees and hummed in an irritatingly out of tune fashion as he began to work on the wood. He dragged over the now dead trees and bent them in between each of his hands, making them groan and snap with protest, working them into chunks of wood a human could handle without too much difficulty. He made a big stack of logs next to himself, the pile slowly growing while Maxwell just watched awkwardly, careful not to be caught staring at Wilson's face. Finally, the scientist finished what he was doing.

“I see you’re all out of firewood. So here.” He crouched down and rolled over the several of the stacked big logs, dampening them slightly by letting them push over wet frost as they slid right by Maxwell and over to the firepit.

Maxwell shifted uncomfortably at the favour. He supposed he ought to say some kind of “thank-you”, but he really didn’t know how to and nor did he particularly want to.

“Well aren’t you just the pinnacle of being grateful right now.” Wilson snorted. He had a slight, smug grin on his face though, so luckily for the magician he could tell his new companion didn’t really mind or begrudge the lack of thanks too much. He wished he could wipe that look of Wilson’s frustrating face though, but he knew better than to try and end up a literal pancake.

The giant blushed terribly, his face a bright scarlet colour when his stomach suddenly let out an impossibly loud growl, the big organ’s complaints vibrating through his core once he stopped speaking. It sounded almost like a lion snarling or a bear growling, his size meaning it was very low and as loud as thunder. Wilson was clearly made uncomfortable by how ungentlemanly and noisy he sounded, looking away nervously, beginning to fumble with his clammy hands and twiddling his thumbs.

“Uh, s-sorry, please do excuse me. Currently I’m a little peckish. That’s what I was doing before I found you actually, I was looking for food. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to go hunt some beefalo. I shouldn’t take too long, and I’d bring back whatever I caught, so you could take some of the meat.” He proposed.

“Fine by me, Higgsbury.” Maxwell shrugged. His answer sounded blunt and indifferent, but really the idea of game made his mouth water and his empty stomach pang with hunger. He was simply desperate for some rich, rich meat, proper food he could really sink his teeth into - even if it did taste and smell of barnyard. It would be better than his usual meals of pitiful rotten berries and carrots, food some kind of pathetic starving rabbit would eat. He shifted slightly, eager to see the giant leave and fetch him enough of a meal to actually fill his belly properly for once and to gain food he’d actually at least somewhat enjoy the taste of.

“Alright then. Wait here for me.” The huge gent instructed as he stopped crouching and began to walk away, his huge footsteps making the ground ring.

Maxwell watched him lumber away, his huge form still slightly visible for a fair few minutes as he disappeared, wandering across acres of land effortlessly. He huffed and shook his head, rather glad to see his companion go and to now have some time on his own. Maybe now he would feel a little less stressed and awkward and powerless, even if it was only for a while. He'd have some time to sit and think, to clear his head. 

He pulled over some of the fresh logs with a fair bit of difficulty, dragging and hauling them; they hadn't exactly been snapped into small pieces by Wilson’s giant hands. Sap from them coated his fingers and buried itself under his nails, clinging and refusing to let go. He weakly tossed the fresh smelling wood into his pit and started a fire up, how damp the fuel was from the frost meaning it took him a couple attempts. Once he had been let down from Wilson’s pocket he’d started to get chilly in the cold air, suddenly robbed of a source of heat that had indeed been keeping him extremely warm, and so he was glad to be able to get his old brittle bones warm again. He pulled over a spare log and sat down on it with his bony rump, the damp wood digging into him and making him slightly uncomfortable, but he was too tired to care. He jammed his frozen, spindly hands into his armpits and huddled up very close to the fire, sighing with content and closing his eyes for a few moments, letting the heat wash over his cold face’s skin and relishing the feeling of it managing to warm him right to his core. He puffed out little silvery clouds as he breathed and threw a couple more logs into the flames, making the fire a massive roaring one that reached an insane height; the blazing thing would have been dangerous if it were not for the pit that enclosed it. He watched it dance and flicker with his eyes half shut, the scorching red heat reflected against his cold grey pupils.

He thought about the past few hours and all the crazy events he had gotten himself wrapped up in. Now Wilson was gone, he was yet again almost convinced that the sight of the giant had simply been some sort of hallucination, but his memory was too vivid, not to mention the destroyed drying racks and the fire he had been given proving otherwise. So now here he was. Camping with a literal giant that just so happened to be a former enemy and captive of his.

He wondered how on Earth Wilson had gotten so big in the first place, simply having been too distracted by other things to ask the scientist before he left. Well, he’d have to ask him when he got back. Maxwell thought about it for a good long moment. He was certain it must involve the island’s strange magic, after all, what else could change a man so drastically? Surely it wasn’t something else, like Higgsbury’s ridiculous “science”? If Maxwell was honest, he had a lot of questions, but his own curiosity irritated him, and so he had held back from asking any of them. He didn’t like not knowing, not one bit. He liked always being in the know, so he could be smug and feel better than everyone, so he could be in control. He didn’t want to seem just as bad as Wilson; to seem ignorant and incompetent. Asking questions would make him look like a naive child. But he still simply couldn’t help but just want to ask the giant question after question, he couldn't help but wonder. What did Wilson even eat now he was so big? Was he still able to craft anything? Did he still make winter clothes? And what about… well, Charlie? Was even she now powerless against him? The thought that Wilson was too much of a challenge for even “ _her_ ” now made him shiver.

His mind flickered to thinking about Wilson’s strength and he rubbed at his sore sides with his hands, huffing and frowning at how bruised his ribs felt, just the slightest twitch of Wilson’s muscles able to damage him and cause him an awful lot of pain. Wilson was odd. One minute he’d seemingly been trying to squeeze him hard enough to get his innards to burst out of his mouth, obviously enjoying tormenting him and turning him into nothing but a source of entertainment, and the next he had been offering him protection and giving him firewood, trying to be polite and gentle. The dapper man couldn’t deny that he - well, he appreciated the hospitality, in a way it was a relief to finally have some sort of interaction with someone after being trapped alone in a social wasteland. Even if it was Wilson, it was at least someone to talk to, someone to satisfy his basic human need for socialization. It was relieving to have aid now, to have someone on his side, an ally, and to suddenly have his chances of survival, his chances of not being torn apart or painfully starving greatly increased. Especially considering said ally was a giant, Wilson was so powerful now he could protect him from just about anything on the island.

But still, Wilson’s sudden change of heart was baffling. Why the hell would the giant honestly want to be around him and to help him now? After all he had done? He hadn't exactly been nice at all, in fact, really he’d been awful - really, really awful to the scientist. Wilson had endured so much due to being lured to this realm, he had been torn apart by enraged spider queens, eaten alive by the deerclops, coming back each time purely because he was lucky enough to have made an effigy just before or he’d found a stray touchstone. He’d died so much, and each death had been extremely painful. He’d dealt with starvation and frostbite and madness, horrible things plaguing his life and leaving very little room for joy in between. He’d lost everything he had before he ended up in the wilderness because of Maxwell, and he’d had very little to begin with anyway. Wilson could have just forced the knowledge he wanted out of Maxwell via brute strength, threatening him with immense pain or his life, and then left him alone or killed him anyway. But instead he had decided to take a more humane and kind route, and he had offered something in return for what he gained; he had been diplomatic. He was willing to give an awful lot, things that would end so much of Maxwell’s suffering, things that could save his life. So - what was it that made him do it? His ridiculous pride at being a “gentleman”, perhaps? Or - had the island perhaps gotten to him? Was he really that pathetic and lonely that he’d try to bribe Maxwell into willingly interacting with him? Maybe it was perhaps a mix of the two.

Not only was Wilson’s change of heart confusing, it was suspicious. It was - well, it was a little terrifying, being with the giant. If he was planning something, or if he ever did change his mind and decided to do something horrible to Maxwell, hell, if merely a bad temper took hold of Wilson and he lashed out, the former king would be absolutely powerless to stop anything done to him. He’d be doomed. Maxwell almost wanted to stand up and leave at the mere thought, perhaps stuff a backpack with the essentials and make a new camp elsewhere. But his fear of angering Wilson, his fear of being tracked down by the giant and attacked for backing out of the deal made him too hesitant and afraid to do so. Besides, receiving aid was just too valuable for him to turn down - despite how humiliating it felt, that wouldn’t change the fact that it was indeed true.

The old man's thoughts began to trail off, he was almost about to drift to sleep, slowly being lulled by the gradually ever darkening sky, and by how warm he was.

But that was when he heard it. He heard the beasts. The baying of hounds.


	3. Chapter 3

Maxwell shot up immediately, his heart beginning to hammer and his eyes bulging out of their sockets with panic. Oh for God’s sake, right after Higgsbury, his only current form of protection leaves, the beasts just _had_ to show up. Could his day get any worse!? He was utterly defenceless currently, having not a single weapon prepared, so he had no chance of being able to battle the hounds himself. Even if he did have weapons, he was so fatigued he highly doubted he’d be able to fight off all of the monsters without collapsing. No, he’d have to run - run and pray that he wouldn't be too slow or tire too quickly.

He burst into action, stumbling with his lanky legs and sliding against the frost, not wanting to waste any time at all. He scrambled through his single wooden chest, hunched over as he tossed various items out of it and let them spill across the ground as he dug around, eventually finding what he was looking for - flint. The old performer then scampered over to his ruined drying racks, pulling some of the damp, filthy ropes that had been ground into the floor by Wilson out of the slippery mud and snatching up some of the few sticks that weren't too broken, slapping all the items together to make a sloppy, only semi functional spear - it was all he had time to make, and he was praying he wouldn't have to use it at all, it was just in case the beasts did manage to catch up with him. Once he was done making a weapon, he tugged some grass out of the ground, mud getting jammed under his nails, and used a couple remaining twigs to assemble a torch, in case the sun set while he was on the run. After all, if he had learned any one thing recently it was that one should quite literally be prepared for almost anything.

He clutched the spear to his side, his grip clammy and impossibly tight as he practically hugged it due to his nerves, and looked out to where Wilson had left. Of course, his plan was to try and get the giant’s aid - he knew he’d probably die if he didn't, Wilson was the only effective arsenal to he could wield against the hounds currently. God, how humiliating, having to chase after _Higgsbury_ , a former pawn for help that his life desperately and hopelessly depended on. It was almost unbearable - but he was willing to do it if it meant he wasn't savaged. The colossal scientist would probably come from where he left when he returned, so Maxwell knew he should go in that direction while running from the hounds, then he might bump into Higgsbury as he made his way back to Maxwell’s camp and be able to get aid. The magician took off at a jog - really, he knew he should sprint due to just how fast the hounds were; he could hear them getting louder and louder, but he needed to pace himself, the last thing he wanted was to collapse from exhaustion, only for his organs to be ripped out of his body for his mistake.

He followed the huge footprints Wilson left, some of them so deep they were practically canyons, easily able to track him. It seemed, rather unsurprisingly, that the giant left a clumsy trail of destruction wherever he went; dozens of stray trees that had gotten in his way were snapped and collapsed against the floor, smeared with red, clay-like mud, and branches that had broken off them due to the fall littered the ground. Maxwell hoped this would at least make finding the giant easier - provided he hadn't wandered too far, after all he could cover over twice the amount of ground Maxwell could in a day in just a hour if he wanted to.

Not long after he started following and running, the hounds, of course, showed up. They were blurs of black and white, winter fur, their strong, lithe forms effortlessly tearing across the ground as they pushed themselves along with their muscle packed haunches. Terrible barks rang in Maxwell’s ears, and he panicked at how they suddenly were right behind him, their footsteps and snarls way too close for comfort as they tore after him. He picked up his pace and ran and ran, sprinting now, praying Wilson hadn't gone too far and was on his way back by now. The magician heaved in the cold air and began to get dizzy with fatigue, but his utter terror at the sight of the hound’s blood ridden jaws, white teeth flashing and glinting as they moved, and at the sight of their terrible, thorn-like claws that raked the floor behind him when he turned to look over his shoulder managed to keep spurring him on. He could hear them snapping and snorting at each other, communicating how best to take the him down and squabbling over who would first get to the spoils. They were perfectly designed killing machines; Maxwell knew this better than anyone, and once they began to give chase nothing could sway them, their blood lust and ravenous instincts were too strong. The way their eyes glinted with eager desire to pull his intestines out of his body and how their hackles were raised with fury made him petrified, almost as scared as he had been earlier upon seeing Wilson’s new size.

Eventually Maxwell spotted the man he was looking for on the horizon, seeing his familiar red tweed suit vest and electrified, black hair springing upright. He wanted to outright weep with relief, never in his wildest dreams would he ever have imagined he would be so happy to see Higgsbury. But the Brit wasn't quite safe yet - Wilson was still ways away, his giant form like a distant tower or building, faded in the skyline due to just how far away he was, and Maxwell clenched his teeth as he desperately sprinted across the frosted grass. Slowly he managed to make out Wilson better, able to see the scientist’s face properly. He noticed the giant had three dead beefalo slung over his shoulder, and seemed to hauling some sort of huge fur rug - but he was too frantic to pay much attention to that currently. Maxwell hollered out to him as loudly as he could, waving frantically. Blast it! He was so small in comparison the big buffoon couldn't even hear or see him yet!

“Higgsbury! Over here! Dammit Wilson, I'm here, now look at me!” He yelled and yelled as much as he could, the hounds still tailing him, snapping at his ankles. “You blind buffoon, I'm literally right here! _Wilson_!” His voice was beginning to get hoarse and he hardly even had any time to breathe between screaming out.

The former ruler yelped with panic, his throat catching with terror as one of the hounds gained on him enough to pounce, painfully pinning him to the frost bitten floor and and knocking both the air out of his frail lungs and the spear out of his hand. It was sent soaring through the air, flying a few feet above the ground for a good few moments, landing with the head lodged into some overgrown grass in a wonky fashion. He groaned as his running suddenly being forced to a halt made him fall, his poor face smacking straight into the ground, getting lathered in sticky mud and scratched by half dead grass. Everything was slammed against the floor with agonizing strength and all of his insides were ringing with pain as they were harshly pounded against, the hounds weight behind him not at all helping. Maxwell squirmed and screeched with pain as a hot stinging shot up one of his legs, realizing that he had been bitten, a hound had bitten into his sweet, sweet flesh. The monster shook its head over and over, in order to tear and ruin the flesh even further, razor sharp teeth cutting through the skin and muscle as if it were butter, digging ever so deeply into the wound. Maxwell wailed with pain as this happened, his eyes tearing up, his entire leg _alive_ and burning with pure pain.

The old king twisted around with all the strength he could muster, kicking and squirming and tensing all the muscles in his torso as he rolled, so that he could try to defend himself from the hounds, it would be much easier if he was on his back so he could use his hands as opposed to being pinned on his stomach. He still continued to call out for Wilson, his voice a pathetic, hoarse, whimpering scream, he was well beyond the point of trying to retain the small scraps of pride he had left now his life depended on being seen or heard by the scientist. He heaved with panic and struggled, still trying to raise his arms in order to wave so that he would be seen, even though really it was a hopeless effort. If Wilson couldn't see the hounds then he couldn't see him anyway, surely there was no way the scientist would see him in time now. All his movement proved to do was agitate and rile his predators further, sparking their predatory urges with the quick movements and struggles. He was sure that this was it - he was going to die. What a bitter and ironic way to fall to the island, he had managed to survive meeting Wilson as a bloody giant, and what’s more, managed to even make some semblance of a deal with him and to gain his protection - only to die from something as mundane and predictable as hounds just an hour after, so close yet so far from being saved by his new guardian.

The Englishman weakly pushed a hound’s muzzle away with his long fingers as best he could, digging his blunt nails into the matted, short fur, white teeth clashing against jet black. It reeked of mouldy raw flesh and wet dog, a pleasant, mundane smell mingled with a terrifying one. The beast snapped and growled and spat, standing right on top of him. It shook the fingers away with a toss of it’s head and tried to bite at his throat, those terrible teeth just inches away from his skin, even grazing against it a couple times. All of the dogs were standing over him, congregating around their meal eagerly, pushing and nipping at each other as slight conflict over who got to have the first bites arose, all of them reading to rip him to pieces and to eat him while he was still alive, their triangular ears pricked forwards as they listened to the screams their prey made. The poor old king’s heart and lungs were thudding against his ribcage out of terror and due to the adrenaline that had been sent coursing through his frail body so hard and so harshly he was surprised his ribs weren't snapping from the force.

When Maxwell felt the ground shaking terribly and felt a cold shadow fall over him his heart almost stopped out of pure, utter relief. Wilson had seen him in time after all. Hounds blotted out his vision, paws and muzzles in the way of his view of the crystallized, weak blue sky above him, but he could make out bits and pieces of Wilson’s face and clothes as the giant hurried over and loomed above, crouching down. The hound that was at his throat turned it’s head, snorting with confusion, only to see a giant hand coming towards it, roughly snatching it up with ease. The hound yelped and whined, scrabbling with it’s paws to somehow try and cling to the ground. It snarled a warning as it was lifted, bluffing that it was able to administer fierce retaliations, and uselessly tried to bite Wilson’s hand, unable to quite reach enough to make contact with his skin as it turned and strained its head - even if it had, Wilson’s big skin was just so leathery and thick it probably couldn't have even pierced it anyway. The giant held the hound up to his face, squinting at it in what appeared to be an annoyed fashion for a moment. He then abruptly snap it’s neck carelessly and effortlessly, pinching it’s head between a finger and thumb and roughly pulling the head right around, making it twist over twice the amount it should have naturally. He tossed the monster’s limp form to the side with what was almost like a pleasant smile, its furry body tumbling across the ground with a harsh slam as he turned his attention to all the other hounds.

The rest of the hounds howled and brayed, distracted and shocked by the sight of a giant human and mourning the loss of a fellow pack member. Maxwell struggled to his feet and backed away from them, looking up at Wilson and going pale as he saw all the carnage in front of him, unable to stop himself from wincing. He just couldn't help it. While seeing the hounds die was satisfying and indeed something he admittedly very much enjoyed, those blasted dogs finally getting their just desserts, the popping and crackling of bones was just so harsh. Good god, Wilson was powerful now indeed, able to snap killer beast’s legs and ribcages like they were merely twigs or toothpicks. It was just a little frightening, Wilson may have been killing them to save him, but it was just so… so gory. The rest of the hounds were attempting to run now, the fact that they were no longer the top predator in this situation finally sinking in, but it was to no avail anyway. Wilson casually pinned each one, lazily taking his time, crushing them or snapping their necks. He hummed merrily as he did so, until finally, Maxwell was surrounded by a ring of dead bodies, a total of twelve dead animals now laid at his feet.

The old man stopped staring at the dead hounds and looked up at Wilson, noticing the giant’s eyes were back to being focused on him, focused more on their companion now he was done killing. Maxwell hugged at himself and shivered with cold a little. He winced with pain at how one of his legs now hurt him to stand on, trying to mask his injury - masking any sign of weakness he could. It burned with a hot, stinging pain, and the sensation was increased tenfold whenever he put any weight on it. He could feel just how torn the muscle was, blood coating his leg making it feel cold and raw. He could also feel blood soaking into the ends of his trousers, drying quickly and making the fabric stiff, while the rest of the blood trickled along his skin and dripped down onto the grass, staining the frost red. The cold air against his wound felt hell, and he grunted and quietly groaned with pain, his small noises inaudible to Wilson as he rested his limb on the floor but gave up his attempts to put any actual weight on it. He was losing heat terribly quickly because of it, winter eagerly pulling pumping warmth out of his exposed flesh.

“Hello again Maxwell. I see that you got yourself into a little bit of trouble?” Wilson casually greeted him, as if he hadn't just witnessed the ex-performer moments from dying and hadn't just effortlessly killed about a dozen powerful, ravenous canines.

If looks could kill, the way Maxwell stonily glared up at Wilson would have ended him right there. The magician didn't even respond to the irritating sarcastic little question, he just pouted his lip and stared up at the giant. While he was grateful he had been saved, his wound had made his mood one that was absolutely foul.

“Quit glaring and pouting like that, jeez. After all, I did just save you from bloodthirsty hounds. I can't be that bad, surely?” Wilson just let out a belly laugh in response.

“Excuse me!? I do not pout!” Maxwell’s jaw dropped with offence, his voice shrill with indignance at first until he caught himself and deepened it. He didn't bother to answer Wilson’s question, too busy being insistent.

“Well, usually, you can’t see your own face, Maxwell. However, unfortunately for me, I can see it, and you've stopped now, but you were indeed pouting.” Wilson spoke in a smug matter of fact tone, giggling childishly a little at the end, clearly having fun teasing the old geezer.

“Yes, well, you can hardly even see me now you’re such a hulking brute, so you saw wrong!” Maxwell snapped, his tone angrier than he actually felt.

Perhaps if he wasn't so proud and used to being grumpy he would have lightened up and not held such a grudge towards Wilson - deep down, he knew he indeed did pout a lot because of just how thick his lips were, but like hell he would ever admit that. He folded his arms. Ugh, god was Wilson's stupid face irritating, it was so self satisfied and - and _dopey_. But - if that was the case, then, why was the sight of it sort of pleasant at the same time? It looked rather - endearing, in a way, it made him almost want to smile as well. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling disgusted at himself for actually wanting to genuinely _smile_ along with Wilson. The island and his time spent on the throne, time spent all alone, it must have really gotten to him, yes, that must have been it. Really he was only glad to see Wilson because of the hounds.

“True.” Wilson’s voice was airy as he agreed and he was still smirking a little. When he heard the brute part his face fell and he became insistent.

“I am not a hulking brute! Despite my new size, I am still as - graceful as possible, I am still a gentleman, you - you pebble!” He huffed, laughing a bit as he said the the last part, knowing how ridiculous he sounded - how ridiculous the whole thing was overall.

“If I recall, you used to be practically miniature, you were so short you were like a child compared to me. It’s not me that’s small or a “pebble” now, I just seem small to you because you’re freakishly large now.” Maxwell went back to being utterly offended for about the hundredth time that day. He turned away from Wilson a fair bit, as if to voice his distaste for the whole affair.

“I wasn't that small! Your height is just way above average. I'm not - or, I wasn't short.” It was Wilson’s turn to be the outraged one, and he blushed ever so slightly, a little self conscious of his old size - however, he was still laughing a bit, so Maxwell could tell deep down he was still enjoying their silly banter.

The former ruler rolled his eyes at the comment, tightening his folded arms. He had no retort - the second part of what Wilson said he still disagreed with, the little scientist had hardly been over five feet tall, but he was too tired to continue the little tiff they were having, and he knew it was stupid anyway. There was a long, long, uncomfortable pause.

“Well. Regardless. I suppose you ought to carry me back to my camp again.” He grumbled eventually. Maxwell took a deep, shaky sigh and let his arms go limp and flop back down to his side, breaking the silence.

“Mm, okay.” The giant gave a lazy yawn and reached with a hand to casually pick Maxwell up, making him back away hastily, stumbling a little due to his ruined leg muscle.

“Woah woah woah!” He held his hands up in front of him defensively, to show that he wanted Wilson to stop. He stared worriedly at the gigantic hand, his eyes meeting Wilson’s confused ones.

“Your hands! You just used them to pick up and kill hounds - that’s disgusting! Those beasts are filthy, they have fleas and things, plus you might have blood on your hands because of the killing. Wipe you hands off on your vest or before you pick me up.” He demanded, his nose wrinkled with disgust, his eyes back to glaring at Wilson again.

Wilson gave a tired sigh and wordlessly complied, lightly wiping them against his red vest. He rolled his eyes as he did so.

“There. Happy now?” He grumbled.

Maxwell was looking at Wilson’s hands again, frowning a little. He hated filthy things, and really he still wasn't pleased or eager to be picked up after Wilson had been touching hounds - they could have been carrying all kinds of horrible things, plus they smelt disgusting and the last thing he wanted was to smell like them too, but he suppose realistically there was still nothing the giant could do to make his hands cleaner.

“I suppose. Just don’t dangle me like you did earlier.” He wasn't looking forward to being carried again, but the bite in his leg meant that he didn't want to just walk back on his own. The distance was simply so big, it would take so much energy and effort and time for him to walk back on his own - besides, after almost dying, he didn't particularly want to leave Wilson’s side. While ashamed of it, he did indeed desperately want to be protected by the giant and felt much, much safer while with him.

Being picked up didn't feel as bad the second time, the height was still unnerving, but at least he was sure that he wasn't going to die this time, which hey, was always a plus.

Wilson seemed to be staring at him right before he put him into his pocket, hesitant to stop looking and to pop him inside it. Maxwell frowned and looked down at himself, wondering what the scientist was gazing at - only to see his torn, bloody leg. He quickly turned his injured calf out of view and curled his other leg around it, blushing a pale shade of crimson in response to his wound being gawked at. God, the last thing he wanted was to be fussed at by Wilson over his wound - especially if the scientist would be mocking about it.

“What’s the hold up? Come on Higgsbury, let’s go. We don’t have all day.” He quickly interjected, squinting up at Wilson irritably.

“You didn't tell me the hounds managed to bite you.” He frowned, lifting Maxwell closer to his face. “You are okay, right? I thought they just pinned you down - they didn't inflict any other damage or otherwise hurt you too badly, right?”

Maxwell outright yelped when his leg was suddenly pinched between Wilson’s fingers and he was forced to splay out across the giant’s palm, squirming a bit and angrily pulling his leg away, of course to no avail - Wilson’s tree-trunk like fingers effortlessly kept him pinned.

“No they didn't, but that’s besides the point! Wilson, get off! Quit touching me!” He barked, getting more and more irritated and embarrassed by the second, his face turning a deep shade of beet red, much to his horror. He couldn't bare the idea of being - well, nursed and coddled like some kind of invalid, he was a grown man for pete’s sake! And being pawed about, poked and prodded at by Wilson, by someone he didn't know or particularly like, it was extremely irritating and rather uncomfortable and awkward, especially considering he couldn't do anything about it, even if he struggled as hard as humanly possible.

Wilson continued to frown. “But… it could get infected. We’ll need to get something for it on the way back.”

“Higgsbury, I don’t need to be coddled like some kind of child--”

“I'm not trying to “coddle” you. I just don’t want you to get some kind of horrible infection and die. I made a deal to protect you, after all. Getting you something to use as a disinfectant for it is not coddling.” Wilson’s reply was calm and logical, much to Maxwell’s further annoyance. He didn't have any quick, snappy response that he could give which wouldn't make him sound idiotic, so he gave in.

“Fine.” He sighed weakly. “I can see you’re not going to back down. So what do you plan on using?”

Wilson hummed thoughtfully. “I know where there’s a swamp to get reeds and I can find and destroy a beehive for honey. If you weave the reeds into parchment, you’d be able to apply some honey poultice to that bite once we got back to camp. But for now,”

He paused and began holding Maxwell with one hand, tugging at his sleeve with the other one. He reached down with his head and began ripping at his sleeve with his teeth, pulling away a messy, misshapen chunk of fabric after a good moment of fighting and pulling.

“I can bandage it with this, Maxwell. To stop it from bleeding all over you so much.” Still holding the human in one hand so that he was on his back and gently pressed up against his giant palm, Wilson fumbled, pulling up Maxwell’s trouser leg and bandaging the wound as best he could with just one hand.

When Wilson was struggling too much and leaned in, using his teeth to pull at the fabric so it was tied as tightly as possible because he just couldn't manage with his four fingers, Maxwell couldn't help but flinch a little at the sight of the sharp, huge, pearly white chompers suddenly looming right in front of him. They looked almost as big as headstones, and he paled slightly as he stared at them, seemingly almost fixated on the sight of them. He hadn't really noticed earlier, but Wilson’s teeth seemed to be sharper - a lot sharper. They seemed to be serrated now, made for eating meat - a predator’s teeth. His eyes flickered from the teeth to Wilson’s hand, and he noticed Wilson’s nails were a fair bit sharper too, they looked like they could carve straight into flesh; more signs he was a hunter now. The old king was beginning to realize that it wasn't just Wilson’s size that had changed, he seemed to have sharper teeth and claws too, things to kill and hunt with. So what else had possibly changed about him too? His diet, his temperament, had many physical things changed? Had he - had he perhaps changed mentally too? He didn't really seem that different, but Maxwell had not exactly known him that well in the first place or been surviving with him for very long yet. The prospect made the magician uneasy, he was dealing with the unknown - and everything he could see right now pointed to Wilson being dangerous.

Well, not quite everything. Glancing at the makeshift bandage, Maxwell lifted his leg and began pulling at it a little, blinking curiously as he examined it. Wilson had been so - well, so gentle while putting it on him, even though he’d been using one hand, he still was so very careful not to jostle the wound or to make it too tight, trying as best as he could to do a good job. And he hadn't hesitated to ruin the only clothes he had to do so for a former enemy, a good chunk missing from the end of his sleeve, making it look even more scruffy than the wilderness already had. Maxwell couldn't deny that he was - as sickening as it was to admit it, that he was indeed grateful for the tender and kind gesture.

Maxwell was less that a meter away from Wilson’s face, and stared up at it with a fairly strong glare, his own face eventually softening a little due to how he was unable to keep up his proud facade of anger in response to all the kindness. He momentarily marvelled at just how… big all of Wilson was. He looked over the skin covering Wilson's face, it was almost as pale as his own, apart from the cheeks, they were a warm shade of scarlet and lathered in dark freckles that were the size of one of Maxwell's palms. There was so much skin to take in, and he could see every pore and every hair that lined Wilson's face, all of them pale and miniature, apart from the ones growing out of the giant's jawline, those hairs were huge, thick stumps of black, wiry stubble that suddenly protruded from his face. Apart from Wilson's jawline, everything indeed did look ever so smooth and soft. He met Wilson's ever curious eyes, perhaps their size was the most amazing thing of all to Maxwell, they were just so very big, he could see his entire body, carefully being held in Wilson's fingers, reflected back at him in them. They were huge brown orbs that took in his current state, soft and twinkling with what seemed to be concern, warm pools of liquid. Why were they looking at him like that? It confused him so much. Why did Wilson seem to care about his wound so much? To want to be so nice? Why?

Regardless, this time he really did need to say thank-you.

“I - uh. Th-thank-you, Higgsbury.” He swallowed, not able to meet Wilson’s eyes as he cleared his throat and quietly voiced his appreciation, clenching a thumb with his fingers nervously to distract himself from how awkward everything felt.

The Englishman got a huge, friendly smile in response, Wilson’s grin a little mischievous.

“The great Maxwell, saying _thanks_? To _me_ of all people? Oh my stars, I never thought I’d see the day!” The giant teased in a light hearted fashion.

“Oh shut up!” Maxwell complained, going terribly red, quickly snapping and being moody - although honestly, the teasing didn't bother him that much.

“Well, Maxwell, you’re very much welcome.” Wilson managed to stop laughing and accepted the magicians thanks properly, leaning in a little, his eyes and face soft.

Maxwell finally looked up at him, albeit still nervous. He didn't - perhaps it was just that - he didn't really know exactly _how_ to act thankful. He had been alone for so long, and he had so much pride. He hardly knew Wilson really, not on a personal level at least. He didn't really know how to voice his feelings and how grateful he was deep down, it was incredibly difficult for him.

Wilson pulled his hands back down and close to his chest, slipping Maxwell into his pocket extremely carefully, making sure his injured leg was definitely not jostled about or damaged further in the process, not at all caught or painfully pressed on by the fabric. The old man couldn't help but marvel at just how gentle Wilson was yet again - he was a literal giant, so big and powerful and clumsy now, and yet he was able to handle him in such a careful way. He was so gentle and soft, planning every move he made to accommodate Maxwell’s wound. He didn't make it sting or ring with pain at being touched even once, he was precise. Maxwell quickly settled comfortably in the pocket.

With that, Wilson picked up his rug, the dead beefalo and dead hounds, beginning to lumber back to Maxwell's camp. Said owner of said camp was safely tucked inside his pocket all the while, warmed by his body heat and lulled to sleep by the rhythm of his heart.


	4. Chapter 4

Maxwell grunted as he felt himself begin to be pulled out of unconsciousness by something, squirming and rolling over irritably. Said something that was rousing him appeared to be panging stomach pains, his body felt like it was practically wailing with agony, like his entire gut was on fire. He was utterly starved, and god did it hurt. He gave a quiet, harsh groan of protest in response to how his middle growled and desperately tried to rouse him, but otherwise he just continued to helplessly lie against the hard ground, completely limp and only semi conscious. He hadn't even opened his sleep-crusted eyes yet, and he had no idea where he was, he was mostly clueless as to what his surroundings were. All he knew currently was that he was lying on something cold and hard, that he was hungry, and that his eyes were shut. That was it. Simply put, he was too tired to even care about his lack of awareness and to check where he was, despite how vulnerable that made him, and to care about something as basic and important as hunger at the moment. Everything just felt so stiff and heavy and tired, so raw, he honestly felt like he wanted to sleep forever. The former ruler covered his face with his arms, draping them over his eyes, attempting to blot out the the harsh, grey morning sunlight that was trying to pour into his vision. The light felt painfully bright to him despite how weak it really was, most of it blotted out by dark, ominous looking clouds.

Alas, the sunlight was relentless, and despite how much Maxwell tried to cover his face, it managed to rouse him quite a fair bit. Once he was awake he just found that he just couldn't quite manage to slip back to sleep - besides, his stomach wouldn't let him. As he began to become more and more conscious, he remembered the events of the past few hours and shot up, straining his the muscles in his abdomen due to how quickly he sprang, grinding his fingers and palms into the cool floor to push his weary body up, looking around as he did so. Everything spun for a moment due to how exhausted he still was, the quick movement after being stagnant for so long making him dizzy.

The first thing he noticed was that he was lying right by his camp’s fire pit, which had gone cold, but the ashes and small shards of charcoal ringing it’s sides suggested that it had been burning for most the night. He looked down at himself, kicking a little, feeling slightly smothered. He was buried in what appeared to be a chunk of the beefalo skin rug he’d seen Wilson hauling earlier, his legs all tangled up in it. Everything clicked, and he realized his current situation. It seemed that once Wilson had arrived back at Maxwell’s camp, he had pulled his companion out of his pocket and placed him down to sleep for the night rather than waking him and disturbing his peaceful, much needed slumber, starting up a fire and ripping off a chunk of his own rug to wrap the old man in, so that Maxwell didn't get too cold during the night. All of the soft, kind gestures, Wilson being gentle and careful enough not to wake his former enemy, and keeping him warm through the night - well, they were much appreciated. Still, Maxwell felt utterly embarrassed. He had actually fallen asleep in Wilson’s pocket for god knows how long, only to be plucked out of it and to be so deeply asleep that he hadn't even woken up as he was handled, bundled up like a sleepy child or baby.

Pulling the fur off of himself, the magician decided to examine the bite wound the hounds had given him yesterday. He rolled up the end of his trouser leg all the way to his knee, the fabric crackling slightly due to the blood that had soaked it and dried into its fibres, and unwrapped the makeshift bandage Wilson had given to him. The wound appeared to at least be slightly better, but overall his calf still looked extremely torn and damaged, half of the flesh scabbed over by deep maroon red flakes and the other half of it still raw and open. It felt like utter hell too, moving his leg made it sting with a sore pain and anything touching it made Maxwell want to hiss and flinch. It wasn't as bad as it had been yesterday, but it was still practically singing with agony. He gave a weary sigh and wrapped the bandage back around it, thinking. Well, hopefully it would keep on healing, and what’s more, heal quickly now he was with Wilson. If he could convince the giant to stay with him most the time, he should be able to take things easy and to rest a lot. He’d have to mask his requests with excuses though, outright admitting he wanted to be - well, cared for by his former pawn would be utterly humiliating, too humiliating.

He paused, pulling down his trouser leg and glancing up at the sky when he noticed several snowflakes had landed on his shoe. Oh, winter’s snowfall had begun. Well, the clouds did look awfully full, and it was definitely cold enough for snow, really, he shouldn't be surprised. The flakes that were falling were all fat and plump, tumbling down rather slowly, huge white chunks of crystallized vapour taking their time to choose odd places to settle. They quickly began to fill his vision, more and more clogging up the sky, several landing on Maxwell’s eyelashes and his rather large nose, chilling his flesh slightly. He rubbed them all away irritably; he hated snow. At the rate all of these flakes were falling, their size massive and the number of them incredibly high, the ground would be smothered in snow very quickly. The old man gave a tired, angry sigh - the bright, chilling stuff clogging up his camp, making everything damp, making him even colder each night than he had been before, and making walking and travelling much harder and more strenuous - well, wasn't that just bloody brilliant.

His thoughts were interrupted by another sharp sting of hunger that ripped across his middle, his belly gurgling with desperation, and he outright whined at how much it hurt, his voice flimsy and choked at the back of his throat. He thought for a moment, and then jammed a hand into his pocket and pulled out the red berries he had picked yesterday, before he had been discovered by Wilson. They were even more rotten now, and so squashed they were completely flat, but he shovelled them into his mouth without complaint. He didn't even chew them, he just swallowed the deflated, moist things down whole so he didn't have to taste how mouldy they were. Maxwell gave a tired huff once he was done quickly wolfing the fruit down. The berries had hardly really helped at all, while they soothed his hunger a bit, he was still very much in need of food, he needed much more than just a few morsels. Well, yesterday Wilson said he would share the meat from the beefalo he had managed to hunt down with him. The old king would just have to get the giant to give him it today, and uphold the promise he made.

Maxwell stretched and stood, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he did so, and turned around, only to jump a little with slight shock. Wilson was lying right behind him, the giant’s peaceful face suddenly bombarding his vision. Wilson was a huge wall of flesh; a mountain. Everything else in the camp was so tiny compared to him as he lay there, he suddenly seemed to just spring out of the ground, appearing from nowhere, and looking rather out of place lying amongst all the machines and items that were way too tiny for him.

Honestly, the Brit thought his companion looked… well, completely and utterly ridiculous. He was sleeping on his side, all curled up like he was trying to be a cat, his huge hands balled up into loose fists and tucked under his chin, and his giant legs folded so that his knees were tightly curled up against his torso. A peaceful, rather silly looking smile was spread across his mouth, which hung agape slightly, revealing his soft, wet, rosy pink tongue and gums, and Maxwell could see his ivory teeth glinting in the sunlight. His left cheek was crushed and flattened against the floor, several leaves and twigs clinging to or caught in his hair due to how he had rolled and moved about in his sleep. Maxwell wrinkled his nose, repulsed when he realized Wilson was drooling slightly. It may have only been a bit of drool that was being produced, considering Wilson was so big, but to a normal sized person, it was rather disgustingly more like there was an entire rivers worth of the sticky stuff. He could hear slight, soft little snuffling noises coming from Wilson, the giant letting extremely high pitched, blissful little whines as he breathed out, they were so soft they were almost inaudible. Occasionally the scientist would twitch or shift a bit, his nose wrinkling and his fingers tensing, signalling that currently he was deeply asleep and most likely dreaming. His huge body was getting utterly smothered in the delicate snowflakes that were beginning to fall, many of them trying to join the few sticks in his hair and to settle into it, but due to the amount of heat the giant’s colossal body radiated, they melted almost instantly upon making contact with him. The ex-performer couldn't help but look at Wilson and chuckle a little at just how content and silly he looked, shaking his head.

Maxwell folded his arms as he stared at Wilson’s big face. Well, he wasn't planning on just patiently waiting for him to wake up. He wanted food and he wanted it now - no, he needed it now. He stood, his arms still firmly folded, and walked up to Wilson’s face, staring right at his shut eyes and the bridge of his nose.

“Wilson.” He barked loudly. No response.

The dapper gent sighed.

“Wilson!” He outright yelled the next time, leaning into Wilson’s face as he did so, but it was still useless - Wilson didn't even stir.

Perhaps trying to wake the scientist would be much harder than Maxwell had originally thought - honestly, it was like an ant trying to wake a hibernating bear. But he was determined now, spurred on by his body’s instincts for survival.

He walked over to Wilson’s neck, already able to feel the immense amount of heat that Wilson’s huge body produced, just from being a few steps closer to him, from being closer to his huge, powerful, pulsing jugular. Maxwell held out a hesitant hand, slowly stepping closer to Wilson with it, pulling it back to himself right before he made contact with the giant, weakly curling it against his chest and hastily backing up before he got just close enough to grab. He didn’t know why, but he was hesitant to touch Wilson, suddenly almost a little too intimidated to do so, and cursed at himself for it. It was just Wilson, he wasn't going to do anything about being touched, he’d understand that he was merely woken up because Maxwell desperately needed food, it wasn’t like he was a short tempered fellow. But still… it was just, so odd, touching something that titanic. He was about to touch something that was - well, an utter beast of a person. Maxwell swallowed his hesitation, his fear, and forced himself to step forward and to reach again, taking a tiny fistful of Wilson’s jet black, lustrous hair in his right hand, the strands soft and thick, like smooth wires against the magician's fingers. He pulled his fist back, giving the hair in his hand a gentle tug. When that elicited no response he continued to pull, each time exerting more strength, until he was outright yanking, his hesitation now jaded by his frantic hunger. He grabbed another fistful, bits and pieces of hair messily poking out from between his fingers, and pulled with both hands. He dug the heels of his pointy leather shoes into the floor so that he didn't accidentally fall back due to how hard he was pulling, grimacing from using all of his strength to tug, his teeth bared and his arms shaking because he was straining so hard. Wilson snuffled slightly, but otherwise, there was still no response.

“Higgsbury, wake up!” He yelled. He let go of the hair, stumbling back and catching his breath for a moment, puffing out heavy white clouds as he huffed with exertion, and then moved back to Wilson’s face. He grabbed at Wilson’s cheek with his hands, falling to his knees, and tried slapping and pushing against Wilson’s soft, freckled face with his fingers, feeling the stubble scratch at his palm each time he patted the skin. _Still_ nothing. He turned around after a while, standing back up and pushing his back into Wilson’s flesh. He dug his feet into the floor and used all his strength again, this time pushing instead of pulling, rocking back and forth as to really try to shake the giant awake - he could have tried slapping at his cheeks much harder, but that almost felt a little too aggressive, so he decided to go with pushing on him.

“Come on! Get up, you great oaf! You insufferable lug, wake up!” He kept hollering as he pushed, despite how much it pained his throat - he was still sore from how much he had needed to scream yesterday. He eventually gave up, rolling his eyes and sighing, stepping away from Wilson for a moment, thinking what to do next. He glanced at the scientist’s big ear, the tips of it rather pink and tufts of hair poking around the edges of it, and squinted at the giant, curved flesh inside the inner ear as he thought. Perhaps if he yelled directly into the ear canal he could finally awaken Higgsbury?

It was worth a shot. He began trying to clamber onto Wilson’s arm with a fair bit of effort, really having to leap, bending his legs and springing with his toes in order to jump high enough to grab at the top of Wilson’s arm, pouncing like a cat would, only much less gracefully. He grabbed two fistfuls of fabric as tightly as he could, scrabbling with his legs in order to push himself up, and managed to slide up onto Wilson’s arm, flopping on with his belly, clawing some more at the fabric as he made sure he wasn't hanging off of the arm. He shakily began to rise and unfolded his legs, stumbling a bit until he finally gained enough balance due to how soft and wobbly Wilson was to stand on. He walked along the giant limb, holding his arms out for balance, until he got next to Wilson’s ear, and fell to his knees. He pushed Wilson’s thick ebony hair away from his ear and cupped his hands around his thick lips, pulling his head back and then craning with his neck to send it shooting forwards, bellowing directly into the giant’s ear.

“WILSON!” He called out.

It appeared that the old king’s plan of yelling into the scientist’s ear turned out to be just a little too loud for Higgsbury this time around, as opposed to being too quiet for him to hear, Maxwell’s voice painfully ringing through Wilson’s head, managing to suddenly startle the giant awake and out of his wits. Wilson made the most odd noise possible, a half hum of confusion, half yell of panic, and hastily sat up. His spine snapped upright as fast as possible and his mouth was wide open with shock, his hair swaying and bobbing as he moved so quickly, almost as if it couldn't keep up with his movements and was momentarily left behind.

Maxwell gasped and toppled off of Wilson’s shoulder due to the quick and unexpected, lurching movements, falling onto his collar bones face first, scrabbling with his feet and clinging desperately to the fabric of Wilson’s collar. As he grabbed at Wilson, his body flipped around so that instead he was about to fall feet first, practically hugging against his ally as he was forced to helplessly dangle at an almost completely vertical angle.

“W-Wilson! Get me down! Get me down _right now!_ ” He yelled out a demand quickly, his tone shaky and each word rushed, his voice dripping with just how startled and worried he was as he clung on desperately, still flailing a bit. He hadn't expected Wilson to just bolt upright like that! And now here he was, suddenly probably thirty feet in the air, about to slide off of Wilson’s chest.

He felt fingers gently wrap around his body and relaxed, letting out a weak, shaky sigh of relief, letting go of his clammy hold on Wilson’s shirt as he felt himself get lifted up to Wilson’s other hand and gently dropped into his warm, leathery palm. He sat on his knees and looked away from his former captive, horribly embarrassed.

“Maxwell I - what were you doing on my collar!?” Wilson was evidently still a little dazed, not to mention confused, one eyebrow raised at his companion.

“I didn't intend to be there! I just wanted to wake you up!” He insisted quickly and loudly, his face going red. “You wouldn't wake up, so I tried to stand on your shoulder, so I could yell a bit closer to your ear. Then you bolted upright and almost bloody killed me!” He looked and sounded incredibly grumpy, subconsciously using his temper to hide just how startled and worried he had just been.

Wilson blinked for a moment. Slowly, he began to smile, his eyes sparkling at Maxwell, until he was outright roaring with almost painfully shrill and merry laughter in response to what he had just been told, now having finally figured out what was and had been going on.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Maxwell spat, his mouth and eyes wide with offence. He placed his hands on his bony, saggy hips, and without realizing it, pouted. He was rather outraged at Wilson’s response, how dare Wilson laugh; why he, he could have died! It was no laughing matter!

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. You have to admit though, it is a little funny! What made you think hollering like that right down my ear was a good idea?” Wilson stifled his giggles, wiping at one of his eyes, having laughed so hard he had teared up. He glanced down at himself and up at the sky as he spoke, examining all the little snowflakes clinging to his body and checking how many were currently falling, taking in the fact it was snowing so heavily. Maxwell noticed he seemed almost childishly delighted by the current weather - how repulsive.

“Well, I had to. You wouldn't wake up no matter what I did and I'm starving! You said you would give me some of the meat you managed to catch yesterday, but that was evidently a lie.” Maxwell glared at Wilson, his tone bitter as he wrapped a hand around his gut, still pained by his starved state, dramatically exaggerating just how bad it was now he was with Wilson. Almost as if on cue, his stomach gave a loud, grumbled whine of hunger.

Wilson gave a concerned frown in response, leaning in a bit.

“It wasn't a lie, I did save some of the meat for you, I even cooked it for you too. You can have it right now. Perhaps I should have woken you up when we got back to camp, then you could have eaten last night and I could have applied the honey poultice I managed to gather for you then as well. But you just looked so exhausted, I thought it was best to cook the meat while you slept, and to just give you everything in the morning.” The scientist explained.

Wilson gently lay his palm on the floor, wordlessly hinting that he wanted Maxwell to get off of it. The magician complied, standing and watching as Wilson turned around and flicked his camp’s one chest’s lid open with two fingers, rummaging through the sloppily made thing for a bit, and then sticking one thumb inside it in order to scoop something out. Maxwell craned his neck rather nosily, eager to see the meat that had been promised to him.

“I realized you didn't have an icebox of sorts to store food, so I just put the meat I caught and cooked for you in your chest.” Wilson held out a huge hunk of cold, cooked meat to Maxwell, the slab of flesh pinched between his giant fingers and sharp nails.

Maxwell eyed Wilson with an emotionless expression, and gently reached out, his tiny hands grabbing the biggest cut of meat he had ever seen in his entire life, tightly clutching it in his palms. He watched as Wilson released his grip on the chunk and pulled away, that huge, firm grip suddenly relaxing as his giant fingers glided away. The Englishman shifted uncomfortably, almost a little too self conscious to bite into his meal while Wilson was watching - he hated how undignified eating was out in his former domain, the lack of cutlery drove him absolutely mad. He didn't want to look so uncivilized in front of his new companion - he wanted to appear as if he was above Wilson in terms of how much class he had, but the wilderness was proving to be quite the obstacle. He sighed and reluctantly pulled the beefalo meat up to his face.

“There you are. There’s more inside that chest if that piece isn't enough for you currently, I made sure that there’s plenty to satisfy you. I imagine the amount I saved should last you at least three days.” Wilson spoke with his back turned to Maxwell as he began to paw through the rickety old chest again, most likely arranging it and making sure it was neat.

Maxwell slowly bit into the meat, opening his mouth wide and ramming his meal into it, his eyes narrowed as he looked over at Wilson in a semi-thankful, semi-almost suspicious manner as he did so. He chewed slowly, having to exert a lot of his jaw’s strength to bite through the meat with his rather crooked teeth. He swirled the ground up, cooked meat with his tongue, really digging at it and squashing it against the roof of his mouth in order to spread it all over his taste buds, really soaking in it’s flavour. Honestly, he was so hungry the meat tasted like ambrosia, it was simply divine and he relished every inch of its juicy flavour, even the tangy barnyard after taste it had.

“Thank-you, Wilson.” He hummed after he had swallowed down the first bite, voicing his thanks feeling a little easier this second time round. He couldn't help but sigh with relief at finally having something to fill his burning, agonized stomach. After his first taste of the food, he couldn't restrain himself, instead of trying to look composed and like a civilized gentleman he tore into the meat, clutching it with his hands tightly and digging his nails into it, hunger taking over him. He roughly ripped off chunks of it that were just a little too large for his mouth to cope with, snapping his teeth in an attempt to chew them quickly, the meat awfully tough and almost leathery, his relieved yet still starving stomach spurring him on all the while.  

He wiped his fingers along the ends of his jacket when he had finally had his fill and finished the last bite of meat, sniffing with contempt for unsightly he had just acted. He sighed, his breathing heavy and a tad painful due to how tight his middle was now. His stomach now rather bloated, almost painfully so. Really, after living on such a poor diet, he knew he shouldn't have overdone just how much he ate, but honestly, he failed to care right now - he just wanted to feel content and full and good.

The magician took a step closer to Wilson, watching the giant curiously. He seemed to be taking quite a while as the went through the contents of the chest, clearly he was looking for something. Maxwell huffed and knitted his brow slightly, his shoulders stiffening as he folded his arms. That, or Wilson was merely being nosey and eager to go through all of his belongings. The dapper gent stepped right back, the action almost involuntary, when Wilson was done rummaging through his chest and suddenly twisted back around with his giant form, now holding something else out to his companion.

“Here. Reeds I gathered yesterday. Make parchment, then I can give you honey and you can apply the honey poultice to your leg.” Wilson was gently nudging the back of the former ruler’s hand with the reeds, he was holding them out that close to Maxwell.

The older man wordlessly unfolded his arms and took the reeds with one hand, his bony fingers wrapping around the stems. He fell to his knees and began to weave away, licking his lips with concentration and glancing up at Wilson every now and then fairly awkwardly as he did so. How cold he was made the task a bit difficult, he could hardly feel the plants against his numb, pink fingers, but he managed to make a few sheets of parchment. They were rather sloppily made, but it wasn't like he was using them for writing, he figured it didn't matter if they were uneven.

“I'm done. Give me the honey.” Maxwell’s tone was more curt and more hardened than he intended it to be.

Wilson handed him the honey and he took it with one hand, noticing some of the sticky stuff had smeared across those giant fingers, running along its enormous cracks. He used his other hand to roll up his filthy grey trouser leg, pulling it over his knee so it wouldn't slip back down. He roughly and hesitantly yanked off the piece of Wilson’s shirt that was wrapped around his leg, uneager to reveal his skin to the frozen air, feeling all of the heat that had been stored inside of his clothes and underneath the bandage escape. The air against his bite was so harsh and cold it felt like his flesh was physically being torn again, but he managed to hold back any gestures or noises that would convey the pain he felt, that would show weakness. The Englishman could feel Wilson wince at the sight of his wound, and he began to fumble with the parchment and honey, grunting with frustration as he tried to fix his wound. It was the back of his leg that been ravaged, so it was hard to get at it, especially seeing as he was handling both the honey and the parchment, his hands were simply too full. Wilson watching him didn't help at all, it just made him stiffen self consciously and flounder, it made him slip up even more - curse the giant’s infernal gaze.

The Brit blinked with surprise as he felt fingers move towards him, sucking in a sharp breath and looking up.

“Wilson, what did I say about coddling!” He protested as he felt the parchment in his hand gently get scooped out of his grasp and stolen, forced into the pad of Wilson’s index finger. Maxwell glared at his former captive’s face as if he was trying to melt steel beams.

A sigh escaped the giant and he fiddled with the bleached, sickly yellowish-cream coloured parchment that sat between his hands. It was insanely delicate between those gargantuan fingers, flopping helplessly and rather squashed. It looked as if it was thinner than air when compared to Wilson’s flesh, but the behemoth’s grip somehow rather miraculously still managed to be mellow enough not to tear it.

“I'm just trying to help you a bit. I can see you’re struggling because it’s the back of your leg. Look, you apply the honey and I’ll wrap it.” Wilson had that same, calm, irritatingly rational voice yet again, the same one he’d had yesterday when he saw the blasted bite in the first place.

He wordlessly began to watch Maxwell, waiting for him to just give in and to let himself be aided.

Maxwell growled and began to smear honey onto his wound, his grey old fingers lathered in it, some of it seeping under his nails. He couldn't help but hiss and wince a bit as he smothered his open, torn flesh in honey, his leg tingling and crying out with protest as the syrupy stuff sank in. Once he was done he pulled his fingers away from his calf and wiped them on the grass quickly, moving his arm back and forth, revolted at the slimey texture the honey had left on his fingers and desperate to get rid of the disgusting feeling. He could still feel the gluey substance under his nails and it made his face contort with repulsion.

As Wilson leaned down and began tenderly bandaging Maxwell’s leg, the ex performer couldn't meet his old pawn’s eyes, he was too abashed, he had to look away. He focused on Wilson’s hands instead, and quickly noticed Wilson’s fingers were much too big for the task at hand. The giant often stumbled in his efforts, but he kept on trying, until finally, he had the wrap tight enough. He tied it using several knots, really wanting to make sure it was secure, using his mammoth sized, claw like nails to poke at the thin, delicate material so he could obtain a better grip as he made each one.

“There. All done.” Wilson smiled softly, sweetly at Maxwell, and the old king merely gave a weak nod in response, both irritated and encouraged by the friendly expression.

The giant went back to lying down as he spoke, this time lying on his back as opposed to his belly. He propped two arms behind the back of his bushy head and glanced up at the sky, watching the snowflakes fall, yawning several times as he did so, evidently still a little tired.

Maxwell gazed down at himself, twisting his neck to look around and turning his leg inwards so he could examine it more easily, making his rump stick out a fair bit as he inspected the bandage. He squinted at it and leaned down, yanking on it gently a couple times to check it was tied firmly and securely enough. Hm, Wilson hadn't done a bad job, not a bad job at all - at least, considering he was a giant, anyway.

A strong gust of wind almost blew him over and he stumbled, embarrassed and startled as he stopped squatting and quickly stood, the ends of his jacket flying up as they were caught by the breeze. The wind carried a cold air that danced around him, biting at his neck and fingers and torso, causing him to start shivering, his yellow teeth chattering and his eyes watering as they were battered by the wind. He began dragging himself over to the firepit, shakily pushing some of the piled logs Wilson had stacked into it. He tried to start up a fire rather frantically, eager to get warm, cursing under his breath at just how long it seemed to be taking, puffing out little white clouds of annoyance. It seemed the weather was worsening considerably, the snowflakes now even bigger, an impossible size at this point, and thrashing violently as they fell, zipping around due to the crazy winds. They clogged up his greasy hair and clung to his clothes, filling his eyes and cutting the clarity out of his vision. He clutched at his fingers, rubbing his hands together and hunching his back up, his shivering as he waited for the fire to get stronger. Flames had begun to kindle, but they were weak little things, they needed to grow a fair bit more before he would be properly warmed by them, and the wind that was trying to tug them out of the pit or to snuff them out wasn't at all helping. Subconsciously, without even realizing it, Maxwell began to edge closer to Wilson bit by bit, lured and drawn in by the heat that his huge body transmitted.

Maxwell could feel Wilson’s inquisitive eyes boring into the back of him and shifted uncomfortably, hesitantly twisting his tall, hunched over back and turning his head round to meet the giant’s stare. He made a slightly startled noise when he felt Wilson suddenly and quickly slide over to him, the giant’s shifting body forceful against the air and pushing it out of the way, the monstrous things restlessness was easy to notice. He saw the scientist’s shadow fall over him and noticed a pair of colossal arms come forwards as Wilson crawled towards him and tensed up slightly, wincing out of instinctive fear. He was confused as to what Wilson was about to do, Higgsbury was awfully close now. Perhaps he was just cold too, and wanted to get closer to the fire also?

The old king was suddenly, for lack of a better word, swept up by arms that were like tidal waves. He gasped slightly in protest as his lanky legs scraped against the ground, and he grabbed at Wilson for balance as he suddenly felt himself being forcefully pulled over towards the scientist's broad torso, huge arms pushing against him and sweeping him across the ground, his body easy for the giant to manipulate. He almost let out a yelp of panic, only just able to hold his startled fear in by reminding himself of how nicely Wilson had recently been acting, and that they had a deal which he wasn't going to break - but then what the bloody hell was his former captive doing!? When Maxwell was close enough to Wilson he was eventually scooped off of the ground by one of the giant's hands and plopped down into those huge, now folded arms, carefully cradled by them. He began to be pressed against Wilson’s gargantuan chest, buried in the soft fabric, being held so tightly it wasn't too far away from being bone crushing - and yet, he noticed, yet again the giant was still cautious as to not jostle or damage his wound any further.

“Hi-Higgsbury, what are you doing?” He spluttered, confused, squirming with what was almost alarm for a moment.

“You’re cold. So I'm warming you up.” Wilson’s voice was a happy, gentle hum, and he had rolled back onto his belly, so he could use his arms to crawl forwards and pull Maxwell against his chest.

“I - I. The fire is fine, Higgsbury. Get off!” Maxwell was insistent that he was to be put down, squirming a little less now but still continuing to put up a fight. However, the hesitation in his voice was evident.

Already, he did indeed feel much warmer. The cruel wind was blocked out by Wilson, his companion’s immense body acting as a shield, and the relief to his whipped face and blown back hair was, regretably, much appreciated. Wilson was so warm, so very hot, he just radiated an endless stream of delicious heat, a product of all the labour his mammoth body had to exert to stay functional. It was hard for Maxwell to resist the temptation to just go limp and to melt into it, giving up his tiny, protesting struggles, part of him was just so eager to lie against the giant, to soak him in. It was so good, so nice after having to endure days of shivering and runny noses and cold nights. Wilson was so soft too, his clothes and skin so nice and pleasant to lie against, the physical touch was honestly rather comforting. It was such a lovely contrast from all the hard edges and sharp, cruel things that were out to scratch and cut into him in the wilderness, a contrast from how harsh everything in his old kingdom felt. It felt so good to be safely held by something so big and powerful, to be held by something that would protect him from everything that lurked beyond the tree line, from the weather, from everything in the wild landscape and that would keep him company, even be rather nice to him. He felt so very secure, it was so nice for Maxwell to lie with his companion, a contrast from usually being supported by nothing but the cold, hard ground. It was nice to finally have some form of company after weeks of social isloation; no, after an eternity of loneliness on the throne. It made him feel - a little more comfortable around Higgsbury when being held by him so tenderly, it made him trust the giant much more. Everything was so pleasant that it was beginning to override his usual, proud attitude, and he started to give in. 

“Oh come on Maxwell, you old sour puss. I can tell you like this really. Look, I’ll shuffle nearer to the pit, then you can have both the fire and me. You’ll be so warm you’re sweating.” Wilson closed his eyes and gave a soft, appeased smile once he had shifted forwards and settled by the fire pit, being equally as stubborn right back at Maxwell.

Maxwell gave a tired grunt and lay his old grey head against Wilson with an annoyed cluck of his tongue.

“Fine.” The ex performer sighed heavily.

He squirmed a bit as a content silence took hold of them, really trying to get comfy in Wilson’s arms. He lay curled over on his side, his arms splayed out and fistfuls of warm fabric gently clutched in between each of his old palms, his hair brushing against the back of Wilson’s wrist as he lay and his cheek smushed against it, tranquillity taking hold of him for a while. His old chest slowly rose and fell as he breathed, gently pushing on Wilson's arm, and the giant could just ever so slightly feel the soft, weak pressure. After days, weeks of restlessness and worry and pain, Maxwell was finally able to have a moment of satisfied relaxation, and for a while, his mind was blank with nothing but comfort and warmth.

It didn't take too long for his mind to start wandering again however, questions that he'd pondered during all of yesterday beginning to fill and clog up his mind once again, questions about Wilson's current state. He gave in to the desire to have those questions answered.

“Wilson.” He barked, his voice roughly shattering the silence, the peace.

“Hm?” The scientist had closed his eyes, beginning to get sleepy. He opened them and glanced down at Maxwell, who wasn't looking at him, rather the magician was looking forward, staring into the fire thoughtfully.

“May I ask, just why exactly are you so big now? What happened to you?”

There was a pause. Then, a small, weary, wheezing sigh escaped the much larger man.

“I'm surprised you didn't ask me sooner, to be honest. Well, it was all one big - uh.” Wilson’s voice was hesitant and he bit his lip, looking away. Maxwell was intrigued by just how uncomfortable the question had made his fellow camper, and he sat up a little.

“It was all one big mistake. I was messing with solutions, trying to see if I could create one that would enlarge plants. That way, when the winter came, I wouldn't have to worry about finding food during it so much. I would haved gained giant fruit and vegetables, I would have had such plentiful harvests before the winter hit that starvation would have been of no concern to me. But the mixture was rather volatile, it blew up in my face, and the next thing I knew, I was like this…” He trailed off.

Before he had even really thought about it, Maxwell cackled, a smug, cruel grin lighting up his face and his eyes filling with spiteful delight.

“A “ _big_ ” mistake indeed! Trust you to make such a blunder, Higgsbury!” His tone was laced with contempt and he outright snorted. “I thought you would have learned by now after making so many mistakes!” He roared at Higgsbury. Criticizing him just felt so damn good, picking out all of the giant’s flaws was just too easy - considering there was quite a few. Especially when Maxwell was so intimidated by his size, it was like a way of getting back at him, even though doing so was illogical, Wilson hadn't meant to become so big. It felt good because of how suspicious he was of the titan, his anxiety over Wilson perhaps deceiving him or desiring to and using his power to hurt him made him want to lash out like some kind of wounded animal, to hurt someone else in an attempt to gain emotional relief for himself. He was also subconsciously pushing and testing Wilson - seeing if he really wasn't going to hurt him.

Wilson swallowed and looked down at Maxwell, his lip quivering with hurt for just a fraction of a second. He quickly managed to force himself to get over the shock of just how unfeeling and unkind Maxwell had acted, and his eyes hardened a little.

“Don’t be so rude.” He spat, looking away sadly, his warm, fragile, brown eyes full of hurt.

Maxwell stiffened as he realized what he had just said. What was he doing!? He didn't want to get on Wilson’s bad side while they were camping together - while he was lying in Wilson’s bloody arms, for Christ’s sake! Besides, he - well, he had indeed gone too far. The comments he had just made were too cruel, even by his standards, especially considering how nice Wilson had been for the past few hours. He felt a prickling feeling scratch at his throat and gut, and was amazed, revolted with, almost concerned by just how guilty he felt. And yet, when he looked up at those big eyes, he was certain that he felt it, and that he felt it strongly. He needed to try and be more of a - more of a gentleman towards Wilson.

“W-well, it was a good idea in some regards, I suppose. And in some ways it has paid off, as you said, things like hounds aren't much of a challenge for you anymore.” Maxwell leaned forwards and reached out, stretching an arm, sliding a hand over one of Wilson’s middle fingers. He grabbed and stroked the gigantic flesh just before the nail feebly, squeezing it in a soothing manner, deciding to use physical contact as well as words. He was trying his aboslute best to be comforting and reassuring, and to apologize in his own little awkward way, unable to just outright say sorry, too proud to do so.

He could feel Wilson stiffen a little, clearly the younger man had not been expecting the sympathetic touch and kind words. The giant breathed out, relaxing, his eyes grateful as they slid back over to Maxwell’s face.

“Thank-you.” He gave a weak, pitiful smile, and Maxwell could only wonder if he’d truly made it up to Wilson or not - he rather hoped he had. Regardless, he wanted to continue with his questions.

“Anyway,” Maxwell cleared his throat, quickly changing to topic so things felt less awkward and - less sappy. His voice was rather quiet as he made his next question, he wasn't sure how to ask about Wilson's natural weapons, as they were very unnerving, almost horrifying. “Higgsbury, why… why exactly do you have, well, those - those c-claws and teeth now? What - what do you eat?” His eyes had swivelled to one of Wilson's claws, and they were transfixed upon its terrible curved shape.

“I - I still haven't figured out why exactly the solution gave me them. It didn't just change my size. My entire body has changed because of it; my body has adapted. All I can eat now is raw meat, my digestive system can’t metabolize anything else, things like vegetables are out of the question and will make me sick - not to mention, they’re too small. Instead I rotate from animal to animal, giving the different species on the island time while I go and eat other ones so they have the chance to breed and replenish themselves.”

Maxwell let this sink in.

“I see. Well, I have one last question I’d like to ask you, Wilson.”

“Fire away.” Wilson shrugged.

The old trickster swallowed nervously, rubbing his hands together as he prepared to make a last query, looking away with shifty, ice-blue eyes.

“Just… why exactly are you being so nice?” He couldn't stop himself from asking what had been on his mind for hours now. His voice was a quiet, quivering thing, weak and mellow.

He could feel Wilson looking down at him and hesitantly craned his neck upwards, meeting Wilson’s eyes.

“There’s no reason for you to be this nice. So why are you? What do you want? You haven’t even asked for that knowledge you “admittedly wanted”. Why?” His voice became firmer and firmer in its demands for answers.

Wilson seemed to get a little flustered from the sudden inquiries.

“W-well. Uh. I mean, I want the knowledge, but, fair trade, right? I have to do a couple things for you first, so I earn it.” He looked away.

“Yes, but you - you didn't have to try and make a fair trade in the first place.” Maxwell couldn't stop himself from querying Wilson now. He just had to know why - why the scientist had decided to be diplomatic as opposed to forceful. Why revenge wasn't appealing to him. The old magician had to know why he was still breathing and why he was being carefully cradled in Wilson’s arms currently, as opposed to being a mangled smear under the giant’s heel.

“I - what do you mean? What else would I have done?” Wilson replied in a sickly sweet, almost innocent tone, like that of a confused child.

Maxwell took in a shaky, irritated breath. He really didn't want to ask this, to give Wilson ideas, but really, he knew the thoughts had probably already crossed Wilson’s mind anyway. There was no going back on his little quest for answers now.

“Forced it out of me! You could have just - you could have done anything. Crushed me with your hand, put me through pain until I was forced to tell you everything you wanted to know. Then you could have just let me go or - or. You could have even killed me once you got everything you wanted.” Maxwell sighed and ran a hand through his greying hair. “It’s just hard for me not to wonder why on Earth you didn't take revenge upon seeing me. It would have been so easy for you to do so...”

The giant lay his head down as he listened, his chin crushed against the cold ground and his eyes flickering over to Maxwell, his head tilted sideways so he could look at the old man properly.

“I don’t - well. That wouldn't have been very gentlemanly.”

“Trapping you here wasn't very gentlemanly.”

There was an awkward pause. Maxwell covered his mouth with a hand softly, unsure of whether he should have just said what he did. Good god, what was he trying to do, make Wilson become bitter and turn against him?

“I - well, yes. Hence why I still think you’re a jerk. But even a bastard like you must have feelings, and two wrongs don’t make a right. You just. When I came across you, you looked. Looked. I don’t know. I don’t know, Maxwell. I don’t want to kill or hurt or blackmail someone. I just don’t.”

Maxwell furrowed his brow, taking in the gentle hesitation in Wilson’s voice.

“Okay, but you could have just left me alone. Or you could have just asked me the things you wanted to know and left me. Why this deal?” The Englishman blurted out.

“I don’t know!” Wilson’s voice was suddenly just a little too loud, frustrated, and Maxwell instinctively flinched a bit, his eyes widening.

Wilson looked down at him, immediately stricken and concerned.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean to be so loud, I forget the power of my lungs.” He quickly lowered his voice, softly trying to excuse himself and trying to reassure Maxwell. His eyes clearly conveyed just how apologetic he was. 

“Yes, well, stop forgetting. Your voice is annoying enough as it is, I don't want to hear it amplified.” Maxwell grumbled, folding his arms and calming down.

Wilson shifted again, now lying more on his side, making his companion feel rather tilted and at an angle as he was still being hugged close to his chest. He was blankly staring ahead, his gaze just skimming over the top of the fire. He sighed, his huge lungs pushing on his ribs, and subsequently Maxwell could feel the giant’s chest powerfully expanding against him, driving him forward a fair and surprising amount.  The former king squirmed and resettled as this happened, a little shocked by just how much strength Wilson could exert from merely breathing - accidental strength.

“I guess you just. Looked sort of small to me, now I'm so big everything is - is, delicate, I suppose. You looked so beat up. I know me saying to offends you, but you did. I got the urge to help you out because of it. Besides, having company after being out here for so long is… nice. It’s very nice.” Wilson swallowed when he was done speaking, clearly there was a lump in his throat due to how difficult what he had just said was for him to admit and how difficult it was for him to translate how he felt into words, to manage to spit out a proper answer for Maxwell.

Quiet took hold of Maxwell for a long, solid minute. He wasn't really sure how he was supposed to feel about what Wilson had just said - and nor was he sure how to respond. The scientist was basically saying that he pitied Maxwell, that upon seeing him he had found him to be pathetic and weak, clearly in need of assistance. That was honestly hard not to get offended at, especially considering all the pride Maxwell had balled up inside him. He wanted to be seen as strong, capable, a force to be reckoned with - not to be seen as a helpless, doddering old man trapped in the wilderness, even though really, that was all he was now.

But at the same time, Wilson was saying that he had wanted to help someone who had treated him like an animal, like nothing but dirt, that had ruined his life. He had also just said that he thought being with Maxwell was nice - and that was confusing. Maxwell couldn't, for the life of him, think why. What qualities did he have that were appealing to Higgsbury? He couldn't at all aid the behemoth, and surely he wasn't pleasant to be around? It wasn't like he made great conversations with Wilson or was even particularly polite to him, so it couldn't have been that merely his person was nice to be around. But then - what else could it have been that made Wilson find camping with him desirable? It must have been just pure, desperate loneliness. It couldn't have been anything else - or at least, that was what Maxwell kept telling himself.

“I see. Well, I am, admittedly, glad you didn't see it any other way.” With a sigh, the ex performer lay his head down and went completely limp, wanting nothing but to rest now he was full and now that his wound had been tended to.

“I'm glad you’re glad.” Wilson chuckled and stretched with his neck as he let out a small yawn, closing his eyes and holding Maxwell just ever so slightly, but indeed, more tightly, enjoying their contact.

Maxwell noticed Wilson couldn't see his face currently, and he let himself smile ever so slightly.

The blizzard really didn't seem that bad at all, now that he had a friendly giant blotting out the winds and cradling him through it.


	5. Chapter 5

And thus, Maxwell’s life went on, only with Wilson thrown into the fray now.

It had been four weeks since he had first met the changed scientist and became his ally, and he had to admit, life with Wilson wasn’t half bad, at least compared to his time on the throne or his time surviving with just himself for company.

Winter’s real, true wrath came down harshly and quickly, a couple of days shortly after their agreement, and how quickly it attacked was startling, it seemingly came out of nowhere. If Maxwell had thought that the early winter cold was bad, it was nothing compared to this. The chilly season became the cruel mistress of the island, cooling and biting and whipping every living thing on it with harsh winds that carried sharp, stinging flakes of snow that invaded the eyes and stole the skin’s warmth. There was so much snowfall lathering the island that it reached to be a height that was up past even his tall legs knees, and it was quite simply put, the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever come across. It made moving around the island and keeping wood dry an almost impossible task. What’s more, it constantly buried his things, making everything he owned harder to find, terribly damp, and making him constantly have to clear it all off of things like his chest lids, chilling his hands and dampening his sleeves in order to do so.

But Wilson at least made it bearable. It appeared Maxwell’s former pawn was serving as a literal giant, living snow plough for him. The huge scientist would sweep snow to the sides of the camp with each of his impossibly thick arms, revealing the muddy, flattened, limp grass underneath it as he pushed growing piles of snow to the sides of Maxwell’s camp. The way the snow built up in piles and towered around his camp was almost fort like, and it was most useful; the thick walls acted as a wind block. Not only that, but the giant gave him furs from the animals he stripped of their pelts before he messily wolfed their caracasses down. They were warm, sweet furs, divine things that like the wall of snow also helped blot out the winds. Despite their putrid smell, and how they were a little scratchy, making his skin itch in places and his eyes water due to the animals from whence they were made, the magician found they were worth enduring the assault on his sense of smell and the discomfort he felt from being slightly allergic to them, purely due to just how much warmer he felt with them on. They clothed him from the damp, muddy ground and he pulled them over his sore, frost bitten nose and watery eyes when the wind was too much to handle, they kept rich layers of heat trapped around his body throughout each night.

Of course, that was mostly when Wilson had left camp to hunt. When the giant was around, which was the majority of the time, he was adamant that rather than using the furs and snow walls, he would warm Maxwell and blot out the winds using physical touch and his huge body - and, in his defence, it was indeed effective, the most effective method of all. The giant would bundle himself in his own shabby cloaks, impossibly large strips and oceans of sewn together fur, and then he’d scoop Maxwell up, cradling him in his hands or pressing him to his chest with his tree trunk sized arms, draping his furs all over him and wrapping him up in them, practically burying him. Sometimes he kept Maxwell on his shoulder, letting him curl up against his warm, pulsing arteries and under his soft white collars and neck, or he stuffed the grumpy old geezer into his pocket while he laid on his back. Maxwell had acted like he simply couldn’t stand it at first, arguing and grumbling and squirming as he was picked up, but the way he grabbed at Wilson with his tiny hands and clung to him made it obvious that really, deep down, despite how he just couldn’t admit it, he liked it. Hell, loved it, the warmth and comfort and softness simply felt that good, it was much needed relief. It was amazing just how warm Wilson was; part of the reason was due the constant movement of his carnivorous innards, his gut and its furious digestion produced a steady stream of heat. Besides, Maxwell felt safe. No hounds or even the deerclops could hurt him when he was safely being held by Wilson. Security was a hard thing to come by on the island, and now he finally had some, he relished it. Wilson could instantly and easily tell that despite the protesting, despite the wrinkled noses of disgust and bared teeth, Maxwell liked the winter cuddles they had. Contrary to what the former king had originally thought, the scientist wasn’t stupid, in fact, he had moments of exceptional brightness - and god was the giant git cocky about them.

Whenever he had a new idea, whether it was some entirely new invention or an idea pertaining to the solution he had been developing to get himself back to normal and worked upon it, he insisted he was a “Genius at work” and got so excited over the “Power of his mind”. He was ever so arrogant. He was such a goddamn tease too, constantly poking fun and chortling with confidence as he did so.

There were quite a few examples of this. One being the few times when Maxwell had even gone ahead and asked for them to huddle together, usually when Wilson got back from camp and he was impatient for the giant to finish skinning animals and to just bloody warm him up already. He had tried to mask what he had been asking each time, by insisting that Wilson “May as well just get half smothering him to death over with seeing as he was just going to go ahead and do it soon anyway”, and of course, the frustratingly happy and bigger man had just giggled and guffawed in response, beginning to tease Maxwell and to insist that he knew the old man liked being hugged really. Wilson had ever gone so far as to affectionately nuzzle the back of his head with his giant, soft warm nose a few times, to which Maxwell had blushed in response to and snapped that Wilson was not a dog or a cat, there was no need for him to go around nuzzling people - but really, it was another one of those little gestures and touches from Wilson that he loved.

The biggest example of Wilson’s childlike amusement and cockiness was when Maxwell had crawled over in the middle of a particularly bad and cold night, climbing up onto Wilson’s shoulder and then settling in his hair. It was lucky Wilson was asleep, he had rather painfully and carelessly yanked at the hair as he climbed up and got settled. Wilson’s silky locks were like a bed of satin sheets, and Maxwell relished their touch against him as he settled, burying his face in them and sighing with content.

Now, of course, Wilson had no idea that Maxwell was where he was, so when he woke up he didn't hesitate to just stand up, completely unaware that a person was resting on his head. He’d scanned the ground, only to find no sign of Maxwell therefore began looking for him while Maxwell was caught in slumber atop his head.

Maxwell meanwhile had woken up, struggling a little to untangle himself out of Wilson’s hair and smacking his lips tiredly. Something had felt… a little off. The poor old man’s heart had almost stopped when he realized that he was actually on top of Wilson’s head while the was standing. Scrambling to the middle of the giant’s head, Maxwell had clung to two good tufts of hair and started hollering.

“Wilson! Wilson get me down right now!” He bellowed.

The ex performer could feel Wilson freeze underneath of him.

“Max? Where are you?” He asked, calling out to the magician.

“I’m on top of your head, now get me down!” Maxwell yelped as he felt Wilson tilt his head as he looked down, searching with his eyes for Maxwell, and the Brit started scrabbling with his legs frantically to stay safely in the middle of Wilson’s head.

Giant fingers reached up and scooped him off of the scientists head, and Maxwell collapsed against them, heaving out a dizzy sigh of relief.

Then Wilson had started laughing. It was a giddy, high pitched laugh, over and over it sounded out, like a broken record. Wilson was starting to tear up, in between wiping away tears he clinged to one of his sides from slight pain, discomfort ringing across his ribs due to the fact he was laughing so much and his muscles were working that hard.

“What in the blazes were you doing atop my head?” He cried out in between laughs.

“It's not funny! I could have bloody died!” Maxwell hissed irritably. He stood up in Wilson’s palms, taking a strong posture and sticking his nose high up into the air to show his disapproval. He straightened out his crumpled suit and muttered under his breath angrily for a moment.

“I was merely up there because - well.” Maxwell cleared his throat. “I - I was cold. And your hair is soft and warm.” A red flush spread across Maxwell’s cheeks, the magician folded his arms and looked away as Wilson beamed cheekily in response.

“You like my hair and what's more, you like me! Don’t you, Maxy?” Wilson spoke with a sing song sort of voice and his eyes sparkled.

“I - I find you tolerable.” Maxwell said carefully, resisting the urge to cover his blushing face with embarrassment. Maxwell couldn’t help but reflect on his relationship with Wilson in that moment.

The scientist was growing immensely on him.

It - unnerved him a little, when he realized that - the way Wilson laughed so gayly, his bright smile and his playful teasing, his affectionate nature, it… it reminded him of Charlie.

The ex performer couldn’t help himself in that moment. He just had to say something, he had to confess his feelings. He couldn’t go on living in denial, he couldn’t hide how he felt about Wilson any longer.

“Fine, Wilson. I guess I - I do. Well. Like you.” He swallowed and dug his nails into his palms, forcing the words out with a posture as stiff as iron. Admitting such things was just so difficult for someone with as much pride as him. “I - I even maybe.” He licked his lips nervously. “Well, love you.”

Wilson was quiet for a good long moment.

Then he leaned in, and lay a gentle kiss against the side of Maxwell’s head, caressing his temples.

“I love you, too.”

Maxwell leaned into the kiss, sighing happily as he did so. Yes, the odd pair, the magician and the scientist, they were starting to become inseparable.

However, all that changed on one fateful spring day.

Wilson had finally asked Maxwell about the answers he wanted to know about the realm they were both trapped in. At first they had gotten along fine, talking about the mysterious Them and about Maxwell’s time on the throne.

That all changed when Wilson asked about the elusive grue.

“What’s with the night monster? Why did you make it? It’s the most awful thing on this island.” Wilson snorted.

Maxwell’s jaw went stiff, locking up.

“Don’t say that.” He ground out, glaring a little.

Wilson tilted his head, confused at the stiff and harsh response.

“But it is. It’s a horrible beast. What, are you proud of it’s creation? Did you work hard to make it or something?”

“No! Of course I’m not! Of course I didn’t!” Maxwell spat, looking away and closing his eyes. He felt sick. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

“Then why do you defend the awful _thing_?” Wilson asked.

“You’re talking about things you don’t understand. Just drop it.”

Wilson wouldn’t drop it, he kept on and on at Maxwell, continuously insulting Charlie in his attempts to get Maxwell to give him an answer, and so Maxwell snapped.

“Why won’t you talk about that horrid creature?” Wilson asked.

“Horrid, hm? Well at least she isn’t some failure of a scientist!” Maxwell shouted. “You act like you’re so clever and so much better, when really you can do just about jack all! It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long, the only reason you’re still breathing is probably because you fucked up enough to accidentally make yourself a hideous giant! No wonder your family hated you and you lived in that disgusting hovel! Don’t you dare insult her when you’re a monster yourself!” Maxwell raged without thinking, and so much anger was boiled up inside him that a vein was protruding out of the side of his head. He couldn’t let anyone talk that way about his beloved Charlie, he just couldn’t. His eyes were wide and bulging with fury, the blueish grey in them glinting like ice.

When the reality of what he had just said sunk in, the ex performer covered his mouth and looked up at Wilson with wide eyes. He hadn’t meant to say any of that, and it wasn’t what he really thought. Really, he found Wilson’s inventions to be marvelous, all of his effigies and iceboxes were pure genius. His family was reprehensible for abandoning him, and he certainly wasn’t “Hideous” in any sense of the word, really he was rather attractive despite his newfound size. He loved Wilson, he didn’t think any of that at all. He was just frustrated that Wilson was talking about something he didn’t understand and that he was insulting Charlie because he didn’t know any better.

Wilson paused for a good long moment, seemingly frozen with shock. Slowly tears welled up in his eyes and his lip trembled. He was clearly struggling to take in what Maxwell had just said, and he probably felt like his heart had been slashed apart.

Maxwell quickly took a step closer to him, ready to apologize like mad in an attempt to make Wilson forgive him, and ready to try and comfort the poor giant. He didn’t expect what happened next.

Wilson bared his sharp teeth and lashed out, swinging his arm towards Maxwell. The back of his wrist clashed against Maxwell’s frail frame with the force of a freight train.

The magician's body was sent flying through the air until it slammed into the trunk of a thick, hard tree with a sickening crack.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short after such a long wait but more will come I promise! Soon too!

Everything was hazy. Cloudy. Foggy. A sharp ringing sounded out in Maxwell Carter’s ears and he blinked slowly, trying to process what was happening. God, the ringing, would it just shut up already? It was unbearably loud and irritating. He was lying face down with his back to something… something tall. Ah yes, a tree. It was actually uncomfortably digging into him a bit, so he squirmed forward. However, movement made pain shoot through him, and he gasped. His torso felt like it was on fire, especially his ribs and back. He stopped moving and let himself go limp against the ground, breathing heavy. Ah, the ringing was finally starting to die down - albeit it was still annoying. Now. The big question. Why was he lying on his side, originally face down, in front of a tree? A humongous shadow fell over him and then he remembered. It all came rushing back. Wilson. Wilson was the reason why. 

His eyes widened and his lip quivered twice. Wilson had done this… panic flooded his veins. Oh god. What if he was still angry? What if he tried to kill him? He let out a strangled yell of panic and squirmed around, clenching his teeth and ignoring the pain in his body. He got up, stumbling pathetically, mud coating one side of his face from where he had fell, the ground wet and muddy due to the spring rain. 

“St-stay back! Wilson please! Don’t - don’t hurt me! I didn’t mean what I said!” He wailed, backing up with his arms out, clearly very much spooked. He stared up at Wilson with frightened silvery blue eyes, his injured chest heaving.

“Maxwell I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I - oh god, are you hurt? Well, clearly you are - I just - how badly? How badly does it hurt? I’m so sorry I - I didn’t - I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just - I don’t know - everything happened so fast - I got out of control - but that doesn’t excuse it, I know.” Wilson spoke at a rapid fire rate, garbling words out desperately with concerned, wide brown eyes. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Maxwell swallowed. Wilson wasn’t going to kill him. The relief made him weak at the knees, and he grimaced a bit when he remembered the first time they met - the only other time Wilson had made him truly fear for his life. A small fire began to kindle in his old heart now he was more calm and had fully processed the situation. Anger. Rage.

“You’re damn right it doesn’t excuse it.” He growled, lowering his arms and standing up straight, even though arching his back out made him hurt more.

“I know it doesn’t I - I understand if you can’t forgive me.” Wilson whispered. “I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you and I’ll never do it again.”

Maxwell sucked in a deep breath, the sound he made from doing so very loud. He held it for a moment as he thought. Wilson wasn’t safe anymore - plain and simple. If - after everything they had done, after confessing his feelings like that, Wilson was so monstrous that he could strike him like that - then Maxwell was getting out. He wanted nothing to do with Wilson anymore. He would lose all of the perks he gained, he would lose how easy it was to survive and he would lose usually having a full belly. But he would lose more than that… he would lose soft touch. Kisses. Comfort. Security and a sense of peace. He would lose a companion, a dear close friend, a lover… it would hurt dearly. However, survival would have to come first. And Wilson’s actions could not go without consequences. 

“You’re not going to have the chance to make it up to me because I’m leaving.” He huffed, starting to limp over to some well crafted chests with smooth wood. He started to pack a pigskin backpack with important items. 

“What…?” Wilson spoke so quietly that Maxwell glanced over at him to make sure he had spoken. 

“I said I’m leaving. You’re a maniac. Violent. Unsafe. To… to strike me like after everything! You… I…” Maxwell shook his head and wrinkled his nose with disgust. He got back to packing his bags. 

“You can’t! Okay, okay, I understand wanting to leave, I really do. But… I.” Wilson swallowed thickly. Maxwell looked again and saw he was tearing up. He got the sudden violently strong urge to comfort the giant, but it was gone as soon as it came when the magician remembered what he had just done. He couldn’t stop himself from letting his face soften as he stared up at Wilson, however. He still loved him, after all. 

“Okay Maxwell. I understand. I’ll let you leave. But before you leave, at least stay for a few more days. Let your wounds heal. Wait until we know it’s not serious. I’m begging you, please.”

The stubborn old man thought for a minute, long and hard. 

“No.”

With that he left, fading into the distance as all Wilson could do was watch.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh!! I'm soooooo sorry for abandoning this story! I just really lost my muse, mental health stuff. But don't worry, I'm back now and I'm going to make sure I finish it and post the final chapter soon!

Maxwell was back to surviving by the skin of his teeth ever since his split with Wilson, away from the scientist for ten days now. 

The magician was doing better than he had done before his deal with the scientist, since he had supplies, he had a magnificent winter coat and a warm fuzzy beefalo hat, as well as a few other things, and he could always rely on fire. The cold wasn’t too much of an issue. 

The real issue was food. 

Maxwell couldn’t hunt to save his life (literally). He had started making traps to catch the jackalopes, and for a while that worked quite well, but then he began to run out of materials to build the traps with, since it was only just early spring, nothing was growing back once picked clean yet. 

When the saplings and grass finally did start to grow back, branches and blades poking through the melting snow, the pesky rabbit holes closed up and caved in on themselves, meaning that his only food source was gone. 

Berry bushes began to grow again, which was a delight for a while, but the ex magician was picking and eating the berries at a rate where they couldn’t regrow quickly enough for him to use them as a stable food source. He began to start losing weight yet again, all of his fat reserves and muscles being eaten away at by his own body. Slowly his ribs and collar bones started to jut out more and more, and his arms and legs became as thin as toothpicks. 

He needed to do something or he would die of starvation. So, he decided to make his own farms at his camp. He had made a new one instead of returning to the one nearby where Wilson had first found him, not wanting the colossal man to discover him and his main location again. He had even gone so far as to travel all the way across the island, just to insure he wasn’t found. 

The rocks and grass he needed to craft the farms were easy enough to find, but he almost died getting the manure, forgetting that when beefalo were in heat they were very aggressive to anything that wasn’t one of them. As he got close three of them charged towards him and prepare to gore him with their mighty horns. He only just put on his beefalo hat on in time, tricking the beefalo into thinking that he was one of them. He couldn’t help but feel smug when they stopped attacking, fooled by his ridiculous disguise. What buffoons, he thought as he eyed them and smirked. Once he got to collecting the manure he was disgusted. Mortal life was so gross at times. That was probably the only good thing about the throne, he didn’t have to deal with such disgusting things.

He was busy at work crafting and fertilizing his new farms when he felt the Earth shake. Tremors racked his scrawny frame and he stood up, looking around. But he couldn’t see neither hide nor hair of his ex boyfriend. However, he knew he was coming, because he could hear and see trees in the distance making cracking and snapping noises as they were pushed out of the way by a giant.

When he felt stomps getting closer he just folded his arms and stood his ground, expecting the cause of said steps to be Wilson. He was going to kindly - or rather, not so kindly - request that the scientist leave him immediately. 

He took a sharp intake of breath and paled when a deerclops came through the parted trees instead. 

How was this possible? It was early spring! The deerclops shouldn’t be here! He had assumed it was Wilson because this time of year was a time when none of the giants could be found roaming - the new ruler of the island must have changed what times the giants showed up. 

Dropping everything, Maxwell knew his only chance of survival was to run. He even dropped the extra weight that was his coat and hat, he needed to be as fast as possible. One mere hit from the deerclops would easily damage his fragile human body to the point where he died. 

The cold air was harsh against his lungs as he took in deep breaths, keeping his breathing as controlled as he could and making sure that he cleared all the air out of his lungs before he took in each new breath. The better he breathed the longer he could run for, and the longer he could keep sprinting the stronger his chance of survival was. If he could just reach the beefalo, the deerclops would get distracted and attack them instead, or maybe even the beefalo would attack first since they were in heat. The herd was so big that the deerclops would certainly lose, so Maxwell could simply return to his camp and collect the spoils later - Nevermind. 

He was simply too slow. The deerclops was effortlessly gaining as it stomped towards him, and the way it shook the ground made running away even harder. Soon enough it was right behind him. 

The wooly animal snatched the englishman up into in it’s claws, and lifted him up to it’s one foul staring eye. It’s hold on him was uncomfortable, black jagged claws digging into his side. He squirmed as hard as he could and even bit on one of the deerclops’ fingers in an attempt to get it to drop him despite the alarming height it had lifted him to. Of course, the deerclops had thick skin, and Maxwell’s teeth and jaws were nowhere near powerful enough to inflict pain, let alone break the skin. All the deerclops did was lift him closer to it’s jaws and cranked them open, drool dripping from it’s terrible maw in the form of thick strings. At first Maxwell screamed, kicking his legs even harder and wailing, but after a while, he sort of just accepted his fate.

There was no way he could get free. His struggling and kicking and biting was too weak - and not only that, but this outcome was inevitable. Sooner or later he would be killed by something in this world. What did it matter if it was now rather than later? He was too old and pathetic to survive properly. He had lost everything, he’d lost his fame, his fortune, any sense of normalcy in his life, his Charlie - and his Wilson. There was no point in going on without these things in his life anymore. He closed his eyes and prepared himself to be bitten into like a sandwich.

But death never came.

Instead, he felt himself knocked from the deerclops’ hand. He let out a wordless yell as he started to fall to Earth until he felt a hand wrap around him yet again. But this one was different from the deerclops’ hand. It was Softer. Gentler. 

It was the hand of an old friend, ally, and lover. It was Wilson. 

Wilson had come to fight for his life. 

Maxwell looked up at Wilson, who was glaring at the great white beast that stood before him. The giant backed up and set Maxwell down behind a tree while the deerclops let out a huge, earth shattering roar. Then he charged right into his opponent while all Maxwell could do was watch. 

Their fight was brutal. Wilson rammed the deerclops, pushing it back and almost making it fall. He then tried punching and clawing and kicking and biting it as hard as he could, his teeth grit and bared with rage and focus. All the while the beast bit and clawed Wilson right back, leaving deep wounds in his flesh. Wilson’s clothes became soaked with blood, and if it wasn’t for the adrenaline he would be in immense pain. 

Maxwell felt helpless. All he seemed to be able to do was watch as Wilson, his dear Wilson (he had completely forgotten their feud, it didn’t matter anymore) was torn up and attacked and injured. Wilson was a fair bit bigger than the deerclops thankfully, but the deerclops had much more lethal natural weapons. It was anyone’s fight.

After what seemed like hours of slashing at each other and bear hugging each other, Wilson made a significant attack - but it backfired. 

Wilson punched the deerclops straight in the face, and so the deerclops retaliated by fixing it’s jaw right around his arm. It dug its teeth in deep, and grasped the arm with both arms, refusing to let go. Once it had a firm grip it shook its head about, yanking the arm terribly. To Wilson it would feel as if his limb was about to tear clean off. Hollering with agony, Wilson punched the deerclops’ face over and over, trying with all it’s might to get it off, but his hits were poorly aimed, and nowhere near enough to make the giant let go. 

Maxwell couldn’t just watch any longer. He scrambled for his codex umbra and read it as quickly as he could, making two shadow puppets of himself. Then he used some spare flint and twigs to craft an axe. He charged towards the deerclops with his clones, who also pulled out their own shadow axes, and started hacking at the winter giant’s foot. Wilson noticed and shook his head frantically as he looked down at Maxwell. 

“Max, don’t! Stay out of this fight!” He hollered.

Maxwell understood. He didn’t want the other to die, that was the whole reason he was fighting. But the feeling was mutual, and the Brit had to do something!

Finally, after enough hacking, the deerclops couldn’t put much weight on it’s foot, and it stumbled. Wilson took advantage of this, and jammed his hand right into the monster’s eye. Then he yanked the entire eye straight out, all while his victim wailed furiously. Once the eye was completely out, the deerclops fell to the floor. It was finally dead. 

Wheezing, Wilson fell to his knees soon after, clutching his hurt arm and bleeding all over the ground while Maxwell rushed forwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Thank you so much for reading my fic <3! Especially considering it's my first Don't Starve fic and my first fic on this site. Sorry if it's bad or I butchered any of the characters. Crit is most welcome!  
> (EDIT): I redid chapter five and dun dun dunnnnnn. Chapter 6 should be out fairly soon.


End file.
